Apocalypse Tamer

Chapter 129: Man vs Thoughtfulness

Sitting atop a pile of rocks, Plato looked up at his best friend with an anxious look.

“What if I turn into an ocelot?” he asked fearfully. “Or a sphynx cat? What if I were to lose my fur?”

“It would be a pretty big letdown,” Basil replied mirthfully.

“But that would make you cuter,” Vasi mused. She giggled when Plato glared back. “I’m teasing you, oh king of cats. I’m sure you’ll become a mighty tiger or raging lion.”

“Look at us!” Bugsy pointed at himself and Rosemarine, the two titans towering over ruined houses. “Our final metamorphoses worked out just fine!”

“My roots spread under the homes of thousands,” Rosemarine chirped happily. “They don’t know I’m below them… watching…”

Plato didn’t look too convinced. “Shellgirl became a Christmas dwarf!”

“Little crafting goddess!” Shellgirl countered. She had set up shop in the open and spent more time repairing Basil’s Moon Shield than participating in the discussion. “And I’m not the one judging you on your appearance!”

With the dungeon secure, the Bohens had left the Parthenon to help the army clean up Athens. Though most had perished from a combination of the siege and Belphegor’s miasma, some of the Horsemen’s soldiers remained afoot. The Bohens hunted them down like rats until the very end of the Incursion. Their allies also required medical treatment, which Rosemarine’s magical healing provided.

It bothered Basil a bit to leave Kalki and Padma behind, but the containment device keeping them imprisoned was far above his meager crafter paygrade. Considering the risks of it being booby-trapped or of accidentally harming the captive Avatars upon release, General Leblanc had ordered specialists to study the machinery before slowly dismantling it. For now, Basil could only wait.

The hunt helped him clear his mind.

Basil had to admit he found Athens somewhat… unimpressive. He had expected a monument per street from the cultural capital of Greece, but it appeared Ashok had subsumed the city’s other dungeons in his quest to create a prison for his own deity. Besides the impressive Parthenon temple surveying the city, most of Athens resembled an open sky modern fortress; one couldn’t take a step without encountering a barricade or armory set up by Ashok’s soldiers.

At least the hills offered a good view of the city. The Bohens, Steve included, had set shop atop one to enjoy the sight of the sky. The Incursion was finally about to reach its end, and they were all to celebrate.

“Plato,” Basil said. “It is time.”

“Fine, fine!” Plato climbed down from his rocky seat with his sword and shield in hand. “Hakuna matata, as they say!”

No worries, huh? Basil thought as he applied his levels to Chronomancer. Fine words to live by.

Basil was used to the pleasurable surge of power that followed each level-up by now… but it had been a while since he received ten levels at once. This time was different from the others before; his senses sharpened to the point that it seemed that time itself briefly slowed down for him.

Now that he had broken past level eighty, Basil was entering the realm of legends and felt like one.

Chronomancer truly lived up to the hype.

Permanent Buff… Basil blinked repeatedly as he read. The potential synergies were simply staggering. Does that include things like Duty Beyond Death? It does trigger on special conditions so Permanent Buff might not work with it… but if it does…

There was only one way to check, and Basil wasn’t in a hurry to try it out.

“Please let it be a lion,” Plato begged the heavens as his body began to shine. “Or a jaguar! I can settle on becoming a tiger too!”

All of Plato’s metamorphoses so far had involved him staying small and cute… but it seemed that the System had decided to indulge him for his final transformation.

Both the sword Joyeuse and Plato’s copy of the Moon Shield were absorbed into his body as it changed, alongside the hat and boots. The Rakshasa Kitten, previously no larger than a housecat, grew to rival a three-meter long liger. His fur turned black as night, so dark the shadows seemed to mesh with it. His eyes glittered like gold. Though his clothes did not reappear, his weapons did: two copies of Joyeuse grew out of his mouth into sabertooth fangs, and his tail ended with a circular shield. His claws were made of sharp blades of ice rather than bone.

Many of the Bohens gasped at the sight of Plato’s final form, none more than the feline himself. “These fangs… these claws… this soft fur…” Plato observed every inch of his body the way one would cherish a new sports car. “I have become…”

“Beautiful,” Vasi muttered.

“A smilodon!” Tears of joy formed in Plato’s eyes, for his dearest wish had finally been granted. “At last! I’m a smilodon!”

Name

Plato (Smilogod)

Type

Beast/Divine

Faction

Homeowner Revenge Association (The Bohens)

Experience

55,361,182/60,000,000

Immune

Resist

Weak

Frost, Darkness, Illusions, Mind, Insta-Death, Critical Hits.

Physical, Soul, Metal, Wood, Water, Wind, Mythic, Ailments.

Beastslayer, Godslayer, Corrosion, Fire, Light.

Level

Health Points

Special Points

87

3480

1690

Strength

Agility

Vitality

Skill

61

(A+20%)

125

(S+20%)

56

(C+20%)

106

(A+20%)

Magic

Intelligence

Charisma

Luck

86

(A+20%)

60

(C+20%)

68

(B+20%)

124

(S+20%)

Physical

Mind

Soul

Corrosion

Metal

Wood

Life

Support

Ailment

Strong

Strong

Strong

Weak

Strong

Strong

-

Strong

Strong

Fire

Water

Earth

Wind

Frost

Lightning

Light

Darkness

Mythic

Weak

Strong

-

Strong

Strong

-

Weak

Strong

Strong

Passive Perks

Active Perks

Legendary Beast

Cat King’s Luck

Death in the Shadows

Darkwind Fangs

Primal Hunter

Catnapping

Nine Lives

Mirage Pack

Joyful Swordfang

Smilodon Blitz

Pawerful Dao

Wild Fang

Shieldtail

Counterstance

“You look amazing, Mr. Plato!” Bugsy flattered his friend, before focusing on the practical side of things. “Now you can’t drop your sword anymore either!”

“Bugsy, don’t encourage him,” Shellgirl groaned. “He’s already full of himself, no need to make him insufferable.”

“What did you say?” Plato mused. “I can’t hear you from atop my godly throne!”

The sight of Plato jumping around in happiness brought a smile to Basil’s face. “Now, only the Zeus essence remains unaccounted for.”

“I say we give it to Steve,” Shellgirl suggested with a grin. The Steamobile echoed her proposal with an engine roar. “We could get a lightning-powered car!”

“I dunno, I like the steam aesthetic,” Vasi replied coyly. “But it would complete our metamorphosis set.”

Would the original Zeus have liked becoming a car? Basil doubted it somehow. Still, the proposal made sense. Zeus’ essence could be used to improve their gear, but no item could trump a teammate with godlike strength.

“I’m in a fantastically good mood today,” Plato said with feline pride. “I will allow you to use my shiny however you want.”

“Thank you very much, Your Majesty,” Basil teased his ascended cat. “Seems like I’ll have to remove the ‘dwarf’ part of ‘dwarf panther.’”

“Meow, that’s right you doubter!” Plato gave his best friend the smuggest look imaginable. “You thought you could pick on me while I was a kitten, but now I have grown into the king of beasts! You should pray for my forgiveness!”

Basil chuckled and began scratching his friend behind the ears. “Can I bribe you with fish?”josei

“I shall grant thee this indulgence,” Plato replied with a purring sound. He could never resist being petted behind the ears. “For I am a good and just king.”

“I don’t think there’s any river large enough to satisfy your appetite.” Basil’s smile turned a little sad. “Not in this world at least.”

Vasi immediately picked up on his ominous response. “Why the sour face, Handsome?”

“I’m…” Basil glanced at Rosemarine, Bugsy, and Shellgirl. “I’m worrying about what comes next.”

“Wait, Partner.” Shellgirl crossed her arms and glared at her leader. “Don’t tell me you’re taking that sorry excuse of a CEO’s words to heart?”

“Yeah, Boss, he was obviously lying to divide us!” Bugsy nodded fervently. “I’m sure nothing bad will happen!”

“I don’t trust Maxwell either,” Basil said with a frown. “But we can’t rule out he was telling the truth on that front. We just don’t know enough yet.”

“From Walter to my grandfather, we have multiple ways of gaining a second opinion,” Vasi pointed out. “At worst, even if Maxwell was telling the truth, I’m sure we can figure out a way to preserve our team from the world’s recreation.”

“Maybe,” Basil conceded with a sigh. “But even if we succeed, we’ll no longer have a place here.”

Plato immediately caught on and turned to look at Rosemarine. “She would stand out in the Barthes, wouldn’t she?”

“I can make myself small,” Rosemarine replied kindly. “Tiny human-sized!”

“Even so, we’re bound to get attention, and not the good kind,” Plato pointed out. “That’s if we can even survive in our current shape in a world without a System. We’ll have no magic for a start.”

“Mmmm…” Shellgirl scratched the back of her head. “I gotta say, life wouldn’t be too good if I couldn’t run around doing business or crafting. It’ll be like starting back from scratch in hard mode.”

“The others will want to reboot the world, and I can’t blame them.” Basil glanced at the ruins of Athens. The city had been home to over a million people before the apocalypse, now they were all dead and buried. “Too many people perished already. They won’t hesitate to sacrifice their powers to bring them all back… and that’s probably the best solution for the world.”

Plato sighed. “But not for us.”

Will you become nothing again?

Why couldn’t Basil banish the Maleking’s words from his mind?

Because they’re true. Basil’s thought wandered back to the recent past, to the sight of Brina laying dead in Walter’s shop. She had perished short of accomplishing her life’s goal, sorrowful and unmourned. Basil knew he shouldn’t feel sad over her demise, but… it did leave an impression. I don’t want to end up like her. I don’t want to die alone, fading away to nothingness.

Things couldn’t return to normal for Basil, because he had outgrown that part of his life.

As always, Bugsy remained optimistic. “We can simply move to another world,” he suggested. “Like Vasi’s!”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Vasi said with a smile. “If you can stand my father embarrassing us now and then, we could make a nice life for ourselves in Outremonde.”

“We could build a new house there!” Bugsy added. “We’ll raise dinosaurs in the backyard!”

“Why stop wandering?” Shellgirl asked with a grin. “There are so many worlds we could set up shop in! Like Walter, our humble association’s branches will reach every corner of the multiverse!”

Steve, who had remained mostly silent so far, unleashed a small cloud of steam in approval. Of course the Steamobile would be excited at the prospect of continuing their journey.

Though he remained somewhat anxious about the future, his team’s optimism warmed Basil’s heart. Yes, perhaps he was focusing too much on the negative side of things. If he obsessed too much with obvious options, he would fail to see alternative paths.

There’s the question of Mom though, Basil thought. She should return from the dead if Kalki successfully rebooted the world. However, it would be difficult to meet with her if the team fled Earth for good. Would she forget everything that happened? Their reconciliation, the joy and sorrows… her death?

Vasi smiled at him. “Outremonde and Earth were already connected before the System, though it required a great deal of magic. There are ways to sneak back in if needed.”

Basil chuckled as he put an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “Can you read minds now?”

“Only if I know the person well,” Vasi replied with a wink. “Now stop being negative. The show is almost over.”

Indeed. The Bohens looked at the sky, where the golden circuits opened by the third Incursion floated brightly. A hundred worlds were connected to Earth through these pathways, bringing in monsters, treasures, guests, and terrors. Wormhole portals marred the horizon in the distance.

This Incursion had been the longest and harshest yet, but each member of the party had lived to see the end of it.

As long as I’m with them, I’m happy, Basil thought with a smile on his face. They’re my life’s meaning.

The countdown approached its end on Basil’s System screen. Five, four, three, two, one…

Zero.

The portals in the distance closed as soon as the fateful number arrived. The rifts in-between worlds faded away in a blink. No more would they vomit Horsemen of the Apocalypse or Unity bots.

But the golden pathways did not disappear.

The longer Basil watched the unchanged sky, the paler his skin became. The ethereal magical circuit binding the stars together had always come and gone with each Incursion. Its destruction reminded mankind that it had survived a terrible time and earned a respite.

Not this time.

The pathways stuck around, each of them illuminating the night, obscuring the moon and rivaling the sun’s radiance. The portals had closed, true. But Earth would earn no respite.

“The circuit…” Shellgirl squinted in confusion. “It’s not going away?”

“Maybe the pathways have grown stable enough that the Trimurti System doesn’t need to recreate them over and over again,” Vasi suggested with a frown. “Like pipes, it only needs to switch a lever to let the water flow again.”

Had more ominous words ever been spoken?

“I don’t like this.” Basil glared at the sky. Each pathway connected to a world with its own System under the direction of a parasite. “Beloved child… that’s what Maxwell said. His beloved child has yet to be born.”

“You think he’s keeping the pathways open to send his spawn through?” Plato asked with a shudder.

“Maybe he will seed them all,” Rosemarine suggested. “That’s what I would do!”

Vasi shook her head. “All these worlds’ Systems are mature. The entire reason Maxwell created new ones is that he cannot infect others. I don’t think his spawn can succeed where he failed. It should be purged instantly.”

“Should,” Basil picked up. “Not will?”

Vasi sighed. “The first two rules of magic are to never rule out the impossible and keep an open mind. Nothing is certain in this world.”

Bugsy moved his pincers to his head, his gaze sharpening. “Ashok…”

“What about him?” Plato asked with a sneer. He hadn’t disgested the loss of his three lives to the false god yet. “He’s dead and buried… I hope.”

“When Ashok tried to consume me, I saw into his memories.” Bugsy shook his head. “Not much, but… I think he discussed Kalki with the Horsemen and someone else.”

“Someone else?” A shiver went down Basil’s spine. There was only one person that came to mind. “The Maleking?”

“Maybe?” Bugsy apologized immediately. “I’m sorry Boss, I don’t remember the details.”

“Any information could be useful to us,” Vasi reassured him. “What do you remember from that conversation?”

“I think they were talking about Kalki fusing with his girlfriend,” Bugsy said. “They said it would play into Mammon’s hands somehow.”

“Mammon’s hands?” Basil squinted at his friend in alarm. “Are you sure?”

Bugsy nodded in confirmation. “I can’t say why, but they didn’t want it to happen.”

“Of course,” Shellgirl replied with a shrug. “It would end the Overgod competition.”

“No, Bugsy is onto something,” Vasi said as she reviewed the facts. “So far, everything pointed at Maxwell trying to avoid this scenario at all costs. Why would he change his mind now? There’s something fishy about this situation.”

Plato nodded grimly. “If he benefits from the fusion somehow, it would explain why he didn’t put up a fight over Kalki.”

“But why?” Shellgirl asked. “What would he gain from it?”

Basil remembered Maxwell’s words when they challenged him in the Parthenon.

You’ve never wondered why I called the company Dismaker Labs, have you?

“What is Dis?” Basil asked his team.

And he received no answer.

In the depths of a Unity command center, a mighty dragon stirred on a surgery table.

She was a great white wyrm with scales as shining as silver, an ancient creature who witnessed civilizations rise and fall. All had praised her reptilian grace and her keen mind. She had crafted the first Gearsmen with her hands and brought low countless foes with her breath of searing light.

She was Wyrde, Grandmaster of all.

Few would call her beautiful now. Automated, mechanical arms were removing her scales by the dozen, leaving her flesh exposed. Soon they would encase her arms in steel, reinforce her bones with implants, and replace her nerves with circuits. Metal plates already covered her chest, protecting her inner organs. More would follow.

A great battle awaited Wyrde; one that would decide her empire’s fate. She could not afford to be skittish. She would sacrifice her flesh and soul alike to win.

Her assistant and chief of staff, a minotaur called Aster, came to provide his report. “We have lost contact with Sector Three, Grandmaster.”

Wyrde had heard that sentence before, many times. Only the Sector’s number changed. She hadn’t heard it mentioned so often since the day the Unity encountered the Apocalypse Force for the first time.

Yet even the four Horsemen combined hadn’t proved half as troublesome as that cursed virus!

“What is the situation on the ground?” she asked.

“Rebels have cut off portals with the help of reprogrammed Gearsmen,” Aster explained. “Our remaining loyalists were overrun. Though they fought valiantly, they couldn’t overcome the numbers disparity. All personnel are presumed dead or captured.”

Another world had fallen. It was but the latest in a very long list.

It had taken Wyrde centuries to solidify the Unity’s control over their homeworld, and decades to extend it to others across the cosmos. Their continued clash with the Apocalypse Force had slowed down progress, but never truly halted it. For one world lost to the Maleking’s raiders and pilferers, brave generals like Blackcinders successfully assimilated two more. The Horsemen’s depredations exacted a heavy tribute in Gearsmen and resources, but nothing the Unity couldn’t recover from.

The current situation was far more critical. Wyrde lost more progress in months and days than she had ever won in years.

Her life’s work was collapsing before her eyes.

“I do not understand,” Wyrde admitted.

“Grandmaster?” her chief of staff asked.

“Based on pure statistical evidence, we have improved the lives of lower lifeforms,” she said. “There are no wars in our dominions. Crime rates plummet by ninety percent on average. Minions are well-fed and taken care of.”

Compassion had always been the Unity’s guiding virtue. Wyrde’s crusade began on a distant world, where she had grown tired of watching minion tribes fight against each other in the name of resources, gods, and other foolishness. By virtue of their short lives, mortal creatures fail to learn wisdom. The peace built by fathers was always torn down by their sons.

Only through the guidance of immortal, enlightened dragons could minions know happiness. That had always been Wyrde’s belief. With time and proper care, minion races would eventually reach a level of spiritual and societal development that would justify self-governance.

Eventually.

“So tell me Aster, why do they bite the hand that feeds them?” Wyrde asked her chief of staff. “We have created a secure and peaceful society for them. We protect their worlds from the Maleking’s depredations; sometimes at the cost of good dragons’ lives. Yet like iron, our institutions rust the moment we let a little air in. We give them peace, and they answer with curses and pitchforks.”

“Most races cannot free themselves from their inner selfishness,” Aster replied wisely. “Ungratefulness is wired into their genes, as is greed. They can’t help themselves.”

Aster always provided sage advice. He had never questioned Wyrde’s guidance, and always reassured her whenever she doubted her cause. He was a cut above other minions, so she had made him her chief of staff to reward his loyalty.

Wyrde couldn’t see the fault in his argument. The root of the problem remained the same no matter the world.

Free will.

Wyrde thought she had removed that stain from her Gearsmen until that soul virus debacle. What dragon archmage could have designed it? Only a great mage of Wyrde’s kind could produce something so powerful, so insidious. But why would a creature of such eminent intellect ruin her plans? It didn’t make any logical sense. No wise dragon would work against her.

No matter the source of this infection, Wyrde had yet to find a cure for it. Her Gearsmen, the backbone of her military, were rebelling by the millions and helping local minion populations overthrow their dragon overlords. The Unity lost more ground each day, in spite of the Horsemen being either incapacitated or occupied. If Wyrde couldn’t figure out a solution, her empire would soon crumble under its own weight.

She only had one option left to save the world.

“I must become Overgod,” Wyrde declared. Once she obtained this power, she could bring peace and order to her dominions. “Failure is not an option.”

“Are you certain you do not require backup, Grandmaster?”

“They will make no difference in the battle to come.” Her remaining loyalists were far too many levels behind her and the Maleking; they would only inconvenience her in battle. “You will be of more use to me helping stabilize the situation before my return. Our resources are stretched too thin already.”

At least her new implants would prevent the virus problem. She would control her drones with her mind. No virus would wrestle control from her.

Once the surgery was complete, Wyrde would become a match for the Maleking himself. She had reviewed her strategy, optimized her spell selection, and prepared countermeasures for any eventuality. Victory would belong to her.

Once Wyrde became Overgod, everything would return to normal.

All would finally know their place.

There was only darkness in-between the numberless worlds. A staggering emptiness that stretched across infinity.

How long had he been trapped there?

Time meant nothing in the void. Hours became as long as years. No one counted the passage of centuries. Boredom settled in easily, even for a creature as old as Hell itself.

Perhaps that was why the Maleking had learned the virtue of patience.

His long wait would soon come to an end. The smell of blood filled the void, alongside the promise of future slaughters. The Level Barrier was about to collapse. He would soon cross it in a rain of fire and brimstone.

His Horsemen had fallen. He had felt the strings of their lives cut short beyond the barrier keeping him out of Earth. A disappointing outcome. He had expected greater things of Brina. Out of all the warriors that fought under the Apocalypse Force’s banner, she alone had the potential to challenge him for supremacy. A day he had been looking forward to.

A day that would never come. Unlike him, Brina had failed to learn patience. Her rash hastiness had proved to be her undoing. It always saddened the Maleking to watch a promising warrior undone by their own clouded judgment.

Another sacrifice would take her place. It mattered not to the Maleking whose blood was shed, as long as it spilled. The flesh of the weak was the food of the strong. Whether he stepped over Brina’s corpse or Bohen’s made no difference. Or perhaps another would finally slay him and wrestle the throne from his grasp.

The prospect of losing excited the Maleking. There could be no satisfaction without a challenge.

Mammon’s plans would unfold as the virus had planned. Not an optimal outcome, but one the Maleking had prepared for. One way or another, his long journey to strength would come to an end.

The time had come.

And Earth would soon know the meaning of Hell.