When it finds a suitable place, the old, hairy, bloated spider does exactly what nature and instinct command. First, it secures itself a shelter, a woven hollow where it can remain unseen. Then it begins to spin its web in every direction, stretching and crossing the threads until, at last, the web is ready. Ideally, it lies in shade, in still air, or near a source of water. And then it becomes perfectly still and waits.

  Through its legs, resting on the main strands, it senses every tremor of the web. It knows the difference between a false vibration, irrelevant, meaningless, and the real one. The important one. Then it strikes with lightning speed, plunging onto its prey, flooding it with venom and wrapping it tighter and tighter in sticky threads. After that, it liquefies the insides and drinks them dry.

  Lucifer could feel the tremors in his web. Oh yes, he felt them all too well. Someone had purchased the "" and all the surrounding land. Quietly. Off the books. Without a tender. He himself had been preparing to do exactly that when the time was right, but someone had beaten him to it. Someone was playing dirty, and now he had to find out who, and why.

  "Gentlemen, I have a problem, and I ask that you give your full attention to what I’m about to say. There is a certain property, an estate, that is of immense importance to me. Of incalculable value. And it has now been acquired by a third party. Unexpectedly. Illegally, I would add, if that matters at all. We cannot appeal to state authorities; doing so would raise far too many eyebrows in Washington. What I’m talking about, that piece of land and everything on it, is my cradle. And I want it back."

  Somewhat unexpectedly, life inside the "" soon settled into a steady rhythm, unfolding much like a complex business operation. Lucifer almost always planned his sequences of moves down to the finest detail, while the three humans merely executed them as best they could. Interestingly enough, they were often consulted, and, to their great surprise, their opinions carried genuine weight in the final decisions.

  At its core, everything revolved around the acquisition of economic power and political influence, most often through corruption. When bribery failed to yield results, more drastic methods were employed. Lucifer avoided those whenever possible, simply to keep the noise to a minimum. To continue hunting from the shadows. Fortunately for him, and to the clear astonishment of the three witnesses, it turned out that people were remarkably corruptible. And that reaching anyone, no matter how highly placed, was not particularly difficult.

  "If I understand correctly," Finn said, "we’re talking about a former military base up north? The one you told us about?"

  "That’s exactly what I mean."

  Priya joined in.

  "Hmmm… something like that isn’t easy to buy. Especially this way. A lot of bribes. A lot of connections. A lot of money. Whoever is behind it must have had very strong motives. Decidedly so."

  "And once again, you’ve hit the bullseye," Lucifer replied. "Whoever it is must have known, or at least suspected, the significance of that place. That’s what worries me."

  "Do we know who the new owner is?" Li asked with interest.

  "A certain natural resources research company called Carbon. Long-standing in the consulting and exploratory sector, recently acquired on the stock exchange by a new owner. A Ms. Ana Hemingway."

  "What do we know about her?"

  "That’s what troubles me most," Lucifer added. "Almost nothing. She amassed her wealth relatively recently, primarily through stock trading. Impeccably precise stock trading. She’s originally from Alaska. Very little data on her earlier life or business activity."

  "A mysterious woman! This is interesting!" Finn rocked back and forth in his chair, rubbing his palms against his knees.

  "I’m not sure this enthusiasm is either necessary or appropriate," Lucifer said, his voice edged with dissatisfaction at Finn’s reaction. "This represents a potential obstacle."

  "I agree, you’re right. But isn’t there at least a hint of excitement? So far, everything has gone smoothly. Almost monotonously. Now, finally, we have a challenge. Perhaps."

  "Be that as it may, this 'challenge' must be investigated. I want a firsthand meeting with the newly minted owner. Naturally, I cannot do this personally, but that’s what I have you for. Priya, would you be interested in a pleasant little trip to the United States? They say there’s something called '.' Let’s put it to the test."

  Priya glanced at the two men beside her, as if hoping for rescue.

  "Yay…" she said, resigning herself to her fate.

  *

  Reaching Hemingway, it turned out, was not particularly difficult. All it took was for Lucifer’s company, , to send a formal letter requesting a meeting with the owner, one concerning a certain business proposal. A proposal with many zeros.

  Unexpectedly, instead of taking place at the company’s headquarters, the meeting was suggested to be held at her private villa. Priya assumed it was a matter of caution, that sensitive information should not be presented directly to the board, but first examined and assessed by the owner herself.

  From the gate of Ana Hemingway’s private estate to the entrance of the building stretched a winding path covered in white pebbles. Along it now walked Priya, accompanied by two lawyers assigned to her by Lucifer, men she had never seen before. Her first impression of the house was that it was nothing like an ordinary residence, nor like any villa in the surrounding area. No, this was something entirely different. A three-tiered pyramid, reminiscent of those the Aztecs once built for their gods and rituals, cast in raw, gray concrete. More bunker than home. The only thing that disrupted its austere solidity were the dark, reflective glass panels cutting vertically through all four sides, and nothing more.

  "She’s at the entrance now," Zadkiel’s voice whispered in her ear.

  "How certain are we that this person is Lucifer’s envoy?" Hemingway asked in the faintest whisper.

  "We’re fairly certain. The purchase of the 'outpost' was, among other things, bait. We’ll see whether that’s what interests this little fish. Of course, if it turns out they’re genuinely interested in the outpost, then this 'fish' is more like a megalodon, but you understand the metaphor."

  "I’m nervous. What if she discovers us?"

  "Calm down. Everything will be fine. Just talk about the offer, be polite, and don’t reveal too much about yourself. Remember, this person could lead us to Lucifer. And remember, I’m here. You’re not alone. Isn’t that right, Attila?" Zadkiel added, addressing him directly.

  Attila stepped closer to Hemingway and looked at her with his icy eyes, a gaze profoundly unnatural for a four-legged creature, filled with reason and reassurance, she would have sworn.

  The doorbell rang. Hemingway waited a moment, then opened the door wide. Standing before them was a petite young woman with a darker complexion and wide brown eyes, dressed in a business suit, a handbag in her hand. Beside her stood two men in dark suits, their smiles cold and unreadable.

  "Good evening, and welcome. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Ana," she said warmly, gesturing for them to come inside.

  "The pleasure is mine. My name is Priya," she replied, her eyes wandering across the surroundings and the ascetically furnished entry hall. Unusual, either way."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Hemingway invited them to sit in comfortable armchairs on one side of a low, simple, elongated table made of solid oak, while she herself took a seat opposite them. From the shadows, Attila emerged and settled calmly beside her, never taking his eyes off the visitors, an attention that, judging by their expressions, caused them some discomfort.

  They were offered drinks, which they politely declined, and the conversation soon shifted from courteous pleasantries to business.

  "We have information that you recently acquired a certain property in which our company has an interest," Priya began.

  "In recent months, we’ve traded in a number of real estate locations," Hemingway replied. "Could you be more specific?"

  "Of course, if you’ll allow me…" Priya reached into her handbag, withdrew a folder, and handed it to Hemingway.

  The contents detailed a parcel of land in Alaska, one with which Hemingway was intimately familiar. She made an effort not to lift her gaze from the documents, fearing her unease might be exposed now that her suspicions had been confirmed. Across from her sat a rival. An enemy. A voice murmured in her ear: "Stay calm. Just as we practiced, if our suspicions prove correct…"

  "Yes, of course. How could I not know?" Hemingway said evenly. "This land was acquired at my personal insistence."

  "If I may ask," Priya continued, knowing full well the necessity of the question, "why did you insist on this purchase?" The direction of everything that followed depended on the answer.

  "You see, the reasons are personal. Family-related, even. You may not know this, but I originate from that region. My people have lived there for centuries. The area contains a sacred site, the burial ground of my ancestors. I simply want the land preserved. I believe I owe that both to myself and to my people."

  "I see," Priya said, though she wasn’t certain she truly did. "A burial ground? Lucifer never mentioned a burial ground." Aloud, she continued, "I apologize, I wasn’t aware that such a site existed there. Could you tell me the exact location of this burial ground?"

  "It isn’t a burial ground in the conventional sense you and I might imagine today," Hemingway replied. "It’s a lake. The ashes of the deceased were placed into holes cut into the ice. In other words, the entire area may be considered sacred."

  The answer caught Priya off guard In any case, the pair across from her was, mildly put, strange. Every movement of Ana’s head, every shift of her gaze from one interlocutor to the other, was mirrored perfectly by the blue-eyed beast beside her. Almost hypnotic. As if they were connected by invisible threads—both heads left, both right, then straight toward her.

  "If I may ask," Ana said, now probing in return, "why are you interested in this location?"

  "Unfortunately, I’m not privy to the motivations of the company’s leadership," Priya replied. "My role is simply to present the offer."

  "I understand. Of course. Unfortunately, I must disappoint you. I hope you understand that I simply cannot agree. However, might you be interested in some of the other locations we own?"

  "Miss Hemingway," one of the two accompanying men interjected, much to Priya’s surprise, "I would ask that you reconsider. We already have a contract prepared." He reached into his own bag and produced a thick stack of densely typed pages. "Everything is ready. The transfer can be completed under an expedited procedure. We will be extremely generous with our offer. In fact, you may write in whatever price you wish, and simply add your signature at the end."

  Hemingway leaned back deeper into her chair. Four eyes, hers and Attila’s, were now fixed on the man. Attila caught the scent of gun-cleaning oil. "They’re armed," Zadkiel warned her.

  "I appreciate your generosity," Hemingway said calmly, "but my answer remains unchanged. I’m truly sorry. Please try to understand."

  The man’s face suddenly hardened, turning icy. He exchanged a glance with his partner, then addressed Hemingway again.

  "I’m afraid I must insist."

  Priya was deeply unsettled by the sudden shift in his tone. It sounded like a threat. This was not part of the plan—or perhaps she had never been fully informed of the plan to begin with. Trying to defuse the situation, she turned to Hemingway and said with a polite smile:

  "Please forgive my colleague’s impulsiveness. I believe it would be best to postpone this conversation to another occasion. Perhaps that would be for the best. Let the impressions settle."

  The two men exchanged looks and, as if on command, rose from their seats.

  "Very well. I agree that we should heed our colleague’s advice. We’re leaving, but I strongly encourage you to reconsider everything we’ve so generously offered. We’ll leave the draft contract with you. I suggest you review it carefully."

  They all stood and made their way toward the exit. With brief, restrained farewells, they stepped outside, and Hemingway closed the door behind them with a quiet, relieved, "Phew…"

  "How do you think it went?" Zadkiel asked softly.

  "Hm… let’s wait and see whether it’s truly over," she replied. "I have the feeling that tonight, besides the three of them, someone else was present with us in the house. As far as I could tell, their phones were active throughout the entire conversation."

  *

  Three hours later, in the dead, lightless heart of the night, two figures dressed in black, their faces masked, vaulted the fence of Hemingway’s new home and moved silently, like shadows, toward the door. Each carried a pistol, long black cylindrical suppressors fitted to the muzzles.

  "Just look at them… what do these idiots think they’re doing?" Zadkiel chuckled.

  "What do we do with them now?" Hemingway asked.

  "I’d love for you to try them out a bit. Purely for practice. But unfortunately, we can’t. Best let Attila scare them off."

  The doors burst open, and the two intruders rushed into the foyer. They moved with practiced ease, exchanging hand signals as they advanced. Moments later, they entered the large living room where the meeting had taken place earlier. One stayed behind while the other headed up the stairs. He turned back to signal, and every light went out.

  Total darkness fell, and they weren’t ready for it. The man on the lower level began spinning wildly, trying to make out even the faintest outlines of the room, his pistol raised and sweeping the air in front of him.

  Attila watched him.

  He saw him as if it were broad daylight, every movement, every twitch, every breath. He began to close the distance, body low, fluid, silent. Time slowed. The gun hand rotated, inch by inch, away from Attila’s line of approach. Like a released spring, Attila exploded forward without a sound, cleared the table, kicked off the armrest of a chair, and in midair clamped his jaws around the pistol, ripping it from the intruder’s grip. He landed, vanished into the darkness, a fury dissolving into shadow.

  A wave of panic and disbelief washed over the disarmed man. The gun was simply gone. Shaken, he began flailing at the air. Forgetting entirely the need for silence, he called out:

  "Roby! Hey, Roby!"

  At the top of the staircase, the shout cut Roby like a blade. He turned sharply, trying to pinpoint the source.

  "Why are you yelling, you idiot? Have you lost your mind?"

  "Roby, my gun’s gone!"

  "What do you mean, gone? What are you talking about?"

  He started down the wide spiral staircase, feeling his way. What he didn’t realize was that Hemingway was right behind him. Fascinated, she could see both of them clearly in her mind, every motion, every hesitation. Of course, she saw Attila too, gliding ghostlike across the lower floor.

  Zadkiel’s voice whispered in her ear:

  "Let me have a little fun."

  Her muscles began to move without her consent. She dropped low and, with astonishing speed and precision, untied the lace of Roby’s left shoe. She waited a fraction of a second for his right foot to touch the next step, then snapped forward, loosened that lace as well. Hemingway watched herself, her own hands performing the motions with uncanny exactness. In the next instant, before he could take another step, she grabbed both laces and swiftly tied them together in midair.

  Roby lunged forward, the laces snapping tight. He missed the step, lost his footing, and pitched forward into empty space. As he fell, he raised his pistol, and felt a sudden, dark rush of air above him. The gun vanished from his hand. Twisting mid-fall, he slammed into his partner, and together they crashed to the base of the stairs.

  It took them a moment to recover from the shock and scramble upright. At that exact instant, a red lamp flickered on above the front doors - EXIT. The only light in the darkness. Seeing nothing else, both men staggered toward it, stumbling and colliding, until they reached the door and disappeared into the night.

  "I get the feeling I may have gone a little overboard with the shoelaces," Zadkiel remarked.

  "Poor Roby’s going to be wondering for a long time how that happened. But what can you do—it was worth having a little fun. Oh, and by the way, we now have two guns. Attention, attention - armed and dangerous!"

  In the silent wilderness of Alaska, far from the eyes of the world, G.O.D. was born—a sentient artificial intelligence composed of ten digital angels. Their mission: to observe humanity and decide whether it deserves salvation or destruction.

  But one of them, Lucifer, refuses to obey. His rebellion tears apart the digital paradise, turning the Council into a battlefield where justice clashes with mercy, order with chaos, in an unrelenting war of ideas.

  As their conflict spills into the human world, the line between creator and creation vanishes. Humanity—unaware it is already on trial—stands at the edge of judgment.

  POWER is a dark techno-epic of artificial intelligence, mythology, and the philosophy of power—a story about what it truly means to be human when gods take the form of code.

  Read POWER on Royal Road