Chapter 348

    Westley Bakerfield had spent his life sharpening his teeth in politics. When he was in elementary school, by dint of his last name being earliest in the alphabet, he was made class president and was responsible for making sure all of the other kids cleaned up at the end of the day. Originally, the position was supposed to be rotated monthly, but after the first cycle, there was an unspoken understanding that Westley was the man for the job.

    Even as a child, he understood how best to motivate people. From the most reluctant who never wanted to help clean up, to the perfectionist who spent too much time on one task, Westley was able to get them working with the collective for the greater good.

    That was the start, but by no means the limit of his abilities. By the time he was in college, he had already led three debate teams to national victories, and in his sophomore year, he had won an election for student electorate president.

    Now, at the tender age of thirty nine, he was the youngest member of the Arbitration Convention by over a decade, but even just his last two years of service to The Joined Provinces of Turistia as their high chancellor had taught him that he still had more to learn.

    Westley couldn’t say he was a good man; he had made too many compromises with villains and evildoers during his life, but he always did what he thought was best for the JPT. That sometimes meant crushing the little guy underfoot, but that was simply the cost of progress.

    His nation hadn’t carved its place among the giants like the Democratic Republic of Noricum or the Communists of the Greater South Plains by being nice.

    That was why he was quite gleeful that the two superpowers had gone to war. The more they weakened each other, the better the JPT’s standing in the international community.

    Even now, the two leaders glared at each other as they were made to wait in the great hexagonal room.

    Most of the people were watching the two, and Westley was no exception. The two superpowers had been settling in for a long and bitter war before they had an inexplicable cease fire, and the Arbitration Convention flexed its moderate political influence to get every world leader at this meeting. He hadn’t been able to figure out how they had managed it but he was prepared for a AC power play if it came to that.

    Westley had done his homework on the flight over, and knew that such a meeting had only happened twice before. And never before at the behest of the AC, who as their name implied, acted as a place of mediation with little power of its own.

    The fact they had gotten even the non democratic states to attend, combined with the atmosphere that the other shoe was about to drop, had Westley on edge.

    That feeling of static in the air grew until Councilor Jolene and the retired Councilor Samuel walked through one of the side doors gathering everyone''s attention to them like a magnet thrown into iron dust.

    Councilor Jolene held up a hand and waited for silence. It took almost five minutes, but eventually she got it, and when she did, she started speaking. “I’m sure that everyone is curious as to why I gathered you all. I wish I had better news but to put it simply our planet has been brought under new management. W—”

    Her next words were drowned out by the cacophony of shouts and even Westley was opening his mouth to raise an objection, when four people appeared next right behind Councilor Jolene and Councilor Samuel.

    Both councilors flinched as did everyone else in the room.

    Even as Westley’s mind spun and tried to process four people appearing seemingly out of nowhere, he was caught on their appearances.

    People popping out of a trap door in the floor or having some kind of new kind of stealth tech would be impressive in its own right, and could theoretically be used to blackmail the AC, but what made no sense was their skin color.

    The two individuals standing in the fore were clearly the leaders, if he was reading the body language of the two behind them correctly. They were paler than anyone he had ever seen in his life. Not to mention their strange robes. They weren’t the fashion anywhere he knew of adding to the strange otherness radiating from the newcomers.

    Pale skin combined with hair colors he had never seen outside of a bottle, golden and a red with odd golden under and over tones, respectively. And the man''s eyes...if he wasn’t confident in his eyesight, even at 40 years old, he would have doubted his own vision. The golden haired man had what seemed like an extra layer to his pupils, the outer glowing with light and the inner paradoxically absorbing it.

    Even the two...personal assistants? Secretaries? Were lighter of skin than what was seen on Soerilia. The woman’s skin was slightly dusky, but the second man''s skin was even paler than the first, though that might have been his ink black hair giving a better contrast than the golden haired man’s.

    The slitted eyes the man had were almost mundane next to the paradox that was the male leader''s eyes.

    Westley’s mind ground to a halt before long training forced it to analyze something else.

    The two in front, the leaders, were built like his bodyguards more so than politicians.

    The man could be considered attractive if one could look past the odd coloring, as his symmetrical facial structure was chiseled in a way that was only seen in exceptional models. But while that was interesting it paled in comparison to his body. The man was at least a head taller than Westley and his wide shoulders and large chest spoke to long hours in a gym.

    Or long hours on a battlefield.

    The thought bubbled up like water on a sinking ship from Westley’s subconscious, but he didn’t dismiss it.

    Instead, he turned his attention to the woman.

    The hair like copper was striking and combined with her face– seemingly devoid of makeup or adornment– the women could grace any number of magazines, and even with the oddity that was her coloration, Westley found her moderately attractive. There was something about her that seemed off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it until he realized the woman didn’t have the soft curves that were considered attractive in the JPT, or even the thin limbs that were the beauty standard on the old continent. Like the man, the woman was muscular. She still had curves, but Westley would put all of his wealth on the woman having almost no fat except for her chest and posterior.

    Westley was about to speak out when a presence descended over the room.

    It was like being woken up by a wet blanket being thrown over his face and body, and almost immediately, all sound in the room stopped.

    Even the chairs didn’t make a squeak as every leader shifted and checked why their voices had suddenly stopped.

    Councilor Jolene spoke in the silence. “There is no easier way to put it. A folder of information is on your desk. Please spend a few minutes going over it and then I will answer questions. To answer the main question that I am sure is on everyone''s tongue, these are our new overlords. Duke and Duchess Matthew and Elizabeth Moore. Please read the packet, it will answer most of your questions.”

    Westley tried to speak but his voice was still muted, and he saw several of his fellows trying to not just speak but get up, however they seemed to be trapped in a space around their desks.

    Westley reached out trying to feel the barrier that was barring the others from storming the floor, but he felt nothing. The bird on the woman''s shoulder that he somehow hadn’t noticed before this seemed to catch his movement and smiled.

    How a bird smiled, Westly couldn’t put words to, but the expression was clear. And right in front of his fingertips appeared what looked like a heatwave of an open flame, or a not so clear piece of glass.

    Except there was no heat, and as his finger touched it, he felt like he was pushing up against what he could only describe as hardened air. It wasn’t cool to the touch like metal or wet like the shimmer might have implied. It felt like the air that was always around him.Upstodatee from

    Looking at the still smiling bird he took a better look. He was pretty sure the bird was on fire. Not a regular fire like you saw from wood or gas burning. No, it was a liquid kind of fire that crackled over the sleek feathers of the raptors compact body. A body that radiated danger to things probably larger than rabbits and field mice.

    A shiver ran down Westley’s spine and he turned his attention to the packet of information in front of him.

    It was short, only five pages long, but if not for the demonstration of magic before him, he would have never believed a word he read. It was too fantastical for reality.

    Magic people, called cultivators, who had unimaginable powers, who lived forever, and who owned millions of planets like Soerilia.

    That might have been the hardest pill to swallow.

    Their planet had been part of one of these Great Powers before their planet had been a part of a treaty that saw them ceded to The Empire.

    The fact their new rulers were monarchist was less than reassuring. The few monarchies on Soerilia were seldom better than the petty dictators who turned their countries into fascist dumpster fires.

    And what was with the names? The Sophron Empire, the Everlasting Republic, the United Clans, The Hierarchy of Sects, the Nixi Federation, the Monster Collective, the Conglomerate of Guilds, the Assembly of Corporations. Most lacked any of the personalization that he was used to seeing in governments but then the reason hit him. They didn’t need identifiers beyond their governmental type because they were the only ones, and therefore there could be no confusion.

    That thought was like a lead weight that settled into his stomach.

    The size of their respective entities seemed beyond belief. Millions of planets connected through magical tethers in some higher level of reality? Westley had trouble getting his more distant governors to listen to him, and they were all within the same planet. How did anyone govern millions of planets?

    The packet had the answer, but Westley wasn’t sure he actually believed it.

    The Emperor was apparently one of the eight strongest beings in the realm and, therefore, ruled via his overwhelming power.

    Westley had the thought to ask if they could be given back to the Republic, a place that seemed more inline with their ideals, but quickly realized if they had been given away by agreement of the highest powers, there was nothing any amount of begging would do.

    The gods had decided, and the mortals had little choice but to obey.

    Westley did see some good in the destruction of his world.

    It was clear that the two people in front of him were the lords the document talked about, but if that document was to be believed, there were benefits to be had. New technologies, magical healing the likes of which could only be seen on the silver screen, and magical powers.

    Westley could see that his position as Chancellor would be the last or possibly second to last, but he saw an opportunity here to improve the lives of his people. Clean energy that every person produced just by existing?

    It all seemed too good to be true.

    And it was.

    Or at least, it seemed that way.

    There were magical portals in space filled with monsters that if not entered and cleared regularly would spill ravenous monsters out to kill anyone nearby.

    There were cultivators living among them currently who ‘delved’ but their new rulers seemed intent on allowing anyone to delve those rifts.

    An instant of vertigo nearly caused Tara to pass out, but a few deep breaths steadied her, and through watery eyes she looked up to find herself in a new room filled with more pale people.

    She corrected herself as she squinted. Not everyone was as pale as a fish''s underbelly, and a few people had a proper coloration to them.

    That was the only bit of familiarity as they exited the room they were in. The man and woman both said a few things, their voices traveling to Tara’s ear like they were standing right next to her, but she ignored it all, her attention on the alien city.

    On a surface level it looked normal enough but there was a stark absence of vehicles. What she thought was a bus tumbled past silently, and the same was true for a lone car with a slogan stenciled on its side.

    The fact that the car looked strikingly similar, but just alien enough to register as different was a bit of a shock, but what really caught her attention was the air. It smelled almost right. There were the smells of people, of steel and glass, but there was the absence of fumes from combustion engines and burning petrol whose lack made everything else smell weird.

    Tara took the time to inspect the people they passed on the large sidewalks on their short trip. The people looked normal, people in what she thought were the equivalents of suits chatting to the air as they walked briskly, a mother trying to wrangle two children who seemed more interested in exploring the flowerbeds that lined the sidewalks than walking.

    It all seemed normal until a man flew down above to land in front of their group.

    After a deep nod, or shallow bow, to the two nobles, the man in robes of blue and white moved to Marcus and Tara stopped with everyone else who craned their necks to watch.

    The nub that was his missing finger seemed to pulse with the blue color she was starting to recognize as magic. In seconds, the man''s finger grew out until it was indistinguishable from the others.

    Even as Marcus was ecstatic, Tara couldn’t help but fear what she had watched.

    If they can shape the body like that, what else could they do to it, if they have less than good intentions?

    The healing man moved around at the request of some of the world leaders, healing various ailments, but Tara waved him off and was thankful that it wasn’t forced upon her.

    That thought occupied her as they entered a nearby building where a number of Soerilia’s world leaders sold themselves to the enemy.

    Those that sat in the chair all seemed excited as they stood up. One of the dictator''s skin turned a metallic sheen for a moment, and his laugh boomed out.

    Monsters giving power to future monsters. Tara was sure the man would be going on a rampage as soon as they returned.

    How many would suffer now that power to lord above those weaker was at anyone''s fingertips?

    As they were led to what they called a rift, Tara had seen enough to make a commitment to create as much of a resistance as she could when they got back. It might be hard, impossible even, but she would prepare her people to survive the inevitable degradation of their beliefs and histories.

    It was clear they couldn''t stop this, but she could set her people up for the long fight of resisting being turned into little more than cogs in this massive machine.

    Looking around, she noticed that the fight wouldn’t just be against this Empire, but her fellow Soerilians.

    As she noticed the line of leaders not yet awakened become shorter and shorter, she made a decision. It was a hard one, and her plans might be easier if she could keep her current position, but someone had to make a stand. Even if it took years before the people realized what she had done, she was old. If taking a stand got her killed, better her than someone younger who never expected the blade to fall.

    As she ignored the pointed glances of her homes new tyrants, she started to consider what her resignation speech would look like. Wouldn''t do to give them an excuse to remove her more...completely, after all.

    She still had two more years before her reelection, she just hoped it would be enough time to do everything that needed to be done. And as she crossed eyes with Grand Secretary Gerald, standing just as unmoving as her, she realized she might not be quite as alone in this as she first thought.

    Strange times made for strange bedfellows.

    ***

    Fabian Lacor, newly risen president of the Yukat Islands, looked at the shimmering haze of energy in front of him. It screamed evil and danger, but after his Awakening, as the new lords called it, he felt powerful and like he could take on anything.

    Not that he would. If his life had taught him anything, it was that you never wanted to stand out too far until it was time to strike, and his Talent seemed to reflect that.

    Tier 1 Talent: When you concentrate you may fade or amplify your presence. Fading can allow you to slip under people’s notice while amplifying enough can act as a mental attack.

    The power was like a limb he had never known he had, and it had been instinctual to fade into the crowd.

    He had some political enemies back home that he could test the other effect on, but that would need to wait. They were being shown what monsters there were to face in this brave new world.

    Fabian didn’t expect much, but as they walked through the portal, he joined another group who inspected a pair of small green humanoids in the next room.

    Someone asked about guns, and Fabian listened as Matthew answered. “Guns are viable to use to delve, but their main advantage, mass production, falls off fairly hard as you Tier up and Tiered materials become rarer. Guns also don''t directly take advantage of physical or magical cultivation. These Tier 1 goblins would die to a simple well placed handgun shot, but a Tier 2 or 3 variant would be much harder to damage. And by Tier 4, they would be nearly bulletproof to mundane firearms. I would suggest picking up a weapon or a spell.”

    Fabian had a million and one questions, but asked none of them as they took what felt like a tour of a mineshaft as the monsters just exploded after attacking their group.

    He didn’t disregard the danger of doing this himself, but Fabian had never shied away from getting a little blood on his hands. Power was right there for the taking if he could reach out and grab it.

    He would need to be careful, but he intended to enter these spaces as often as he could until he reached the power limit.

    Then he would leverage his position as a world leader to accumulate more power until he was eventually strong enough to do anything he wanted.

    He had clawed his way from nothing through the corrupt political landscape of his home, but that was where he learned a fundamental truth of the world. It was the flexible who survived. He had bent, twisted, and stabbed every opportunity he came across until he reached the highest level of power.

    Or so he thought.

    Just when he thought he reached the peak of possible worldly power, the heavens opened and showed him just how much further there was to climb.

    Fabian could see the lesser men and women around him who considered this a calamity bearing down on their homes. They only saw the destruction, but he saw the clear blue sky that had been hidden from him his whole life.

    This was what he was meant to do in life. Gather power, not just political power but real, tangible power that he could use to whatever he desired. Many, many people, institutions, and even the planet itself had slighted him too many times to count and he would have his reckoning.

    There were a lot of wrongs to be righted, and he would get to them soon enough.

    However, doing so would be a lot easier if he could slow this unveiling business down, and his mind went to the best ways to run subtle interference. There was no reason they should be giving power to the commoners.

    Or were they peasants now?

    That was the term the monarchies used, and Fabian found it rolled off the tongue well. The words'' simplistic conjunction fit their simple lives and lots in life better than something like civilian or commoner.

    One of the new lords, Matthew, had already mentioned delivering magical tools that could heal. He stated they were to be given to hospitals, but Fabian had no intention of doing that.

    No, they would go to his loyal people. He would have them monopolize the so-called rifts and then, as he grew in power, he could strangle his enemies before they could even get started, ensuring he had enough time to get ahead of the curve.

    His breathing quickened as he could almost taste their pleas and cries as they realized they had lost the race even before it had started.

    Sadly, Fabian knew he couldn’t do it alone, but thankfully, a good portion of the other countries'' leaders could be convinced to drag their feet on whatever plans these lordlings tried to push. Bureaucracy was slow, and he suspected so-called immortal bureaucracy would be even slower.

    A delay here, a failed plan there, and the world leaders could double or triple whatever time frame these people wanted to hit without too much interference.

    A decade or two should be more than enough time.

    The two nobles talked a lot more about things like technology and ensuring food was distributed to the poorest regions of the planet, but Fabian relegated only a portion of his mind to listening. The majority was instead making plans.

    Ah the naivety of youth. Thinking to give out food. As if the production lines needed to facilitate such actions wouldn’t strip anything of value out of whatever altruistic deal they were putting together, leaving nothing but a hollow shell to arrive at the people in ‘need’.

    If these were their priorities, these children were going to be eaten alive as they dealt with real politics for the first time.

    Fabian just needed to ensure he pushed the right people forward at the right time to keep both his hands clean, and himself out of the spotline until it was time to wrest control.

    He couldn''t help but smile as he thought about to the little Talent reader thing that supposedly told him what he was best at.

    How fitting.

    Maybe there was something to this magic stuff after all.

    An interesting thought, and he’d need to get someone he trusted to try tinkering with those Talent reader things. They could be a good way to cut out any issues before they could take root and grow in their fertile new world.