What must Become

John walked.

It was a luxury he afforded himself. Every minute was precious, he knew that, but his mind was so taut that he felt like he would rupture if he did not do this. His second body was inactive. Business was being handled by Momo and Scarlett. This was one of the most, perhaps the most, important discussions he would have in his life. He did not need any more distractions than his own mind imposed on him.

A corridor of Sentinel Golems assured no one approached him. There were people around. After current counts, 98% of the people from the Hudson Barrier had been evacuated. It had been 87% at the end of the previous day. Magoi’s sacrifice had saved thousands. The nobility of that act only made the fact that he would never talk to the man again weigh that much heavier in John’s chest.

‘This too shall pass.’ The saying rang hollow in his head. He knew it was true. Time was every bit as merciful as it was cruel. In due time these wounds would heal. For now, the four words were just another straw he held onto to try to not drown.

The evacuees had plenty of space in the Guild Hall. The guaranteed stable weather meant that tent cities were sufficient for most people and the few that needed more had it quickly provided by elementals and helpful fairies. The Farm, which previously had been somewhat of a sink in terms of resources, turned out to be vital. As John had desired, the Guild Hall could feed itself through this crisis. They wouldn’t have to risk getting pulled into Trap Barriers in the mainland to get food for thousands of people out of the mundane.

The Sentinel Golems, in their robotic tones, informed any people hanging in the area to move away. It wasn’t that John minded that he could be heard, it was that he did not want to speak to anyone he did not have to.

Step by step, he approached the chosen meeting place. A simple bench on the northern reaches of the Guild Hall. A wooden seat for three people. Planks on a steel frame, surrounded by grass, a gravel path behind it. Nothing more and nothing less.

John sat down. He felt like he had walked for miles. He gazed outwards. There was the sea before him, crystal clear even now, then a ring of mountains, a defensive perimeter he had added to appease his paranoia. Even they could not cover the infection festering in what had been the capital of Fusion. The skyscrapers of Manhattan had flourished into spires of mould, hundreds of metres tall. The original buildings were still visible between the gaps. Glass and steel peeked out behind mushroom tables and spilling black sludge. Teeth the size of school buses twitched. An eye a façade wide smirked at the Gamer.

The Lorylim had undone in a day what had taken him years to build.

‘The Magus’ bodies are out there… or what remains of them…’ John thought. They likely had taken their own life shortly after the phone call concluded. It was not a pretty thought, but it beat the alternative. The corpses had been absorbed, no doubt, like every blade of grass was.

Lee had been robbed of a proper funeral. John had been robbed of his goodbye. They were both suffering. John wanted to be with her at this moment, to allow himself the indulgence, for at least a day, to wallow in pity.

Emrik did not say anything as he approached. He did not say anything once he was seated either. The suit he wore was disorderly, his hair dishevelled, his face ten years older compared to when they had last seen each other. Everything about the middle-aged man that had appeared to be well put together had been eliminated.

“…How is Marcella?” John asked.

“On the mend.” Emrik’s voice was ragged. He was beyond hoarse and in a state where he could barely speak above a whisper. “Where were you?”

There was an accusation there. A swallowed one, but an accusation all the same. John could not hold back the entirety of his rage. He clenched his teeth and glared at Emrik. “I was crashed into an infested island, battled an infection stronger than anything you could even conceive, and returned to collect the corpses of my parents,” he responded, spitting out every word. “Your loved one lives. Cherish what you are given.”

Emrik’s eyes widened in surprise. He bowed his head respectfully. “I did not know. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The rage did not drain from John. It yearned to break free. So much bottled emotion had to go somewhere. John was no stranger to such an experience. He swallowed and **** the wrath to remain, to be guided at the right target at the right time. Still, he could not find any words.

Emrik obviously felt the disturbance. He was aware of subtler emotions than raw anger. He turned his eyes to the floor. “It is a horrid mess, is it not?” he mumbled. “This is everything I did not want to happen. For what that is worth to you, I do not blame you for any of it. I understand what must happen next. A house divided cannot stand.”

The words finally allowed the reasonable parts of John to regain control over his vocal cords. “I take it you tried to avert it?”

“I have been talking and talking, trying to get sense into their heads.” Emrik shook his head. “They’re foolish, afraid, or both. Not all of them. There are many that know what must be done.”

“Yet there are enough of them to paralyse the apparatus.”

“Yet there are enough of them to paralyse the apparatus,” Emrik repeated tiredly. “You can hold to the title of President, but it would mean nothing now.”

John took a deep breath, then spoke the words that he had resisted for so long, “I will be king.”

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. They stared out across the ocean. Horrid black stalks swayed without rhyme or reason. A weave of chaos, a dance that could not be considered natural to this world. John saw the Lorylim move between in swarms of spores. They took many forms, every one more abominable than the last.

They were out there, furthering their hold over his territory. Their attack was inevitable. While they were plainly visible here, similar scenes were playing out all over Fusion. They needed to get a handle on it all. The work had to be done.

“You have to be the one to crown me,” John said. “The declaration is worth nothing if I do not have your backing. It must be a show of unity, so I can remove the disruptive elements from power without legitimate opposition.”

Emrik did not answer for several seconds. When he did, it was slow. “It is what must be done. When?”

“In one hour,” John answered.

Emrik was surprised. “That swiftly?”

“It must be swift. A press conference was scheduled already. With the Parliament in rubble, it would happen in my Palace anyhow. All the pieces are aligned.” John rose to his feet. “History moves fast at times.”

“Too fast for my liking,” Emrik said quietly.

________________________________________________________________________

“What is the meaning of this?”

The question came from one of the more outspoken hecklers in Parliament. A member of the Economists party, one of the bigger powers in Parliament, based on votes cast when all was fine with the world. What a difference two days could make as to who was or was not fit to lead a situation.

The members of Parliament were seated or stood in the lower area of the massive entrance hall of the Palace. It had always been an imperial structure. Champagne coloured stone made up the bulk of the flooring. Two fountains in the southern corners of the room stood like great, six-petaled flowers, ever-overflowing, giving water to the pools below, which then fed into a network of channels, made visible by veins of glass. The water flowed towards lesser fountains all over the great chamber, to offer ready refreshments to all those that needed it and to lend to the resplendent hall the ever-pleasant sound of soft pattering.

An impressive staircase cut the room in half. Shaped like a flowing M, the stairs rose to great doors on the east and west wall, then swerved away, before turning back south to create an elevated peninsula in the centre of the room.

There, John Newman alone stood by a throne that had manifested the moment prior. It was an ornate seat, arguably more gorgeous than the dome above, with its renaissance painting of the Fusion flag. It was, like the room at large, a fusion of architectural styles he adored. Roman, Renaissance and Art Deco, all coming together in the ornamentations, the paintings, and the shapes of the columns.

John glanced back at the alcoves that filled out the northern wall. There had been 22 originally. The number had increased with the number of women in his harem. Each member had their own seat there. Those that could be present were. Only those that had gone to attempt and liberate the Aztecs were absent, alongside Lydia. John would have wanted them all to be present. Yet another preference that went unfulfilled. He turned his attention back to the throne.

The capital t Throne, bestowed to him by the Astrian Administration choice, was a glorious seat of white, silver and gold. Cushions of a rich purple covered it. It was broader than a regular throne, designed to be shared. It was flowing in its shape, inviting for a person that was assuming enough to think they deserved that authority.

“The Fusion Federation is no more. It is hereby dissolved, its territories to be absorbed into the new Fusion Kingdom, under me as its absolute sovereign.”

The announcement struck the gathered elected officials with a manifold silence. A moment in which John took the most and least comfortable seat of his life.

John had imagined this moment before. How that imagination had played out had depended on his mood at the time.

When he had reacted to the annoying insistences of politicians he disagreed with, it had been a triumphant fantasy, in which he had swept aside the obstructive elements and led the world to prosperity.

When he had reacted to the demand of those that worshipped him as a great ruler, the fantasy had been calm and he had wielded the absolute power invested in him to teach those that had put him there a lesson.

When he had reacted to his own daydreams, it had been a warning fantasy, about how him being crowned would ultimately change nothing. In them, he would have simply gone from dealing with politicians to dealing with courtiers and from citizens to subjects.

When he had reacted to his own desires, it had been a glorious fantasy. A day of flowers raining from the skies, as the people cheered for what all had considered a foregone conclusion anyhow. In those daydreams, all was right in the world and he was at the top of it.

How small and innocent such images of power now seemed. How insignificant and naïve. The reality of the situation was so much larger, yet so much less at the same time. John was not at the top of the world, he was at the bottom. Nothing about this was what he wanted. There was no satisfaction in this, just the pragmatic analysis of what kind of hierarchy the situation called for.

The crowd’s silence continued. It was baffled among those that remembered his long-standing opposition to this exact outcome. It was seething among those that opposed it entirely. It was mournful among those that had sought it in better times. No one was pleased about this, for there was nothing about this that was pleasing. For all the gorgeousness that surrounded them, the affair was ugly.

The crown reflected that.

It was no great work of art, no creation of magic and precious metals, carefully forged over many days. It was made of plain steel, hammered into shape by Hailey over the course of twenty minutes. It was a wreath with six diamond-shaped plates that jutted out along the ring. Each was a socket for a singular gemstone of an elemental colour. It was the barest minimum of a crown. John did not want it to be more than that.

Emrik carried it in his naked hands. Those that had been about to heckle were put to stunned silence by seeing him take the six steps up to the throne. “I support the dissolution of the Federation,” he spoke, his voice returned to him by healers, so that all those who beheld the event through the cameras could hear it plainly. “To deliver us through these times of tragedy, I invest the power of leadership in one man alone. May you know to wield it properly, John Newman, sovereign of Fusion.”

The crown fit him, but it was not comfortable. The six points felt like thorns. The steel was light, compared to the symbolic weight behind it all. Emrik stepped aside, descending the staircase. There was withheld applause from the Crowning Party members, quickly silenced by John raising his hand. He wore only his usual suit and the crown when he stood up.

“People of Fusion – I am now… sovereign.” The word was leaden on his tongue. “Am I king, dictator, emperor or something else entirely? That is to be decided at a time of peace… For now, it matters only that I hold the reigns. It is a measure I take with heavy heart… and heavy hand. I do it because I will have vengeance against these things. I do it because we all are within our rights to feel rage against the invaders, to defend ourselves, and we cannot do so while we are squabbling over who has what authority. I do it because this is what I must become.”

John stopped himself, feeling the embers of rage rising again. What the people needed was not an impassionate speech, but a reassuring one. He measured himself.

“The Lorylim have launched a coordinated attack against us on a scope only a hivemind can coordinate. Their blitz has seen them take many locations. The extent of the damage is still being assessed. The truth of the matter, however, is that we stand. Bruised, bent, but not broken, and we will fight back. It is nothing less than the total mobilization that is needed, because our enemy sees every man, woman and even child as their prey.

“Get ready for the hardest days of your life and take pride in the challenge you are about to endure. We will defend our homes, we will defend our… families…” John paused for one moment too long, then continued immediately, “We will defend everything we can and then we will bite back with the entire **** of the world. Our allies are on their way. Even those that would never bind together regularly will stand shoulder to shoulder with us against the First Foe.

“Everyone who defends what we have built together right now… I commend you. I have a thousand praises to give to you. Yet, at this time, I have a single thing to say: survive. Survive to see the day on which we can once again hold long, emotional speeches. Survive until help arrives. Survive. I know that you can.

“Survive. This is my first and most essential decree.”