The Oath Gamer

John found it pretty funny that Layla was completely oblivious to the fact that she had her best chances ever to get touchy-feely with him.

If he had initiated it, she likely would have snapped out of her zealous fury. Alas, he did no such thing. ‘Truly, I am learning self-control,’ he thought. ‘Old me would have grabbed her thigh the second the infatuation started. Current me isn’t even sure if I will even maintain this interest.’

Layla had (mostly) won over Nathalia by now, that much was clear just from the dragoness saying nothing negative about the reforming stalker. Still, her joining the harem was not a foregone conclusion.

There was a quite dark part of John that did think screwing Layla’s brains out while plotting a god’s demise would have been hot. Thankfully, that was not the part in charge of his actions. After sitting next to Layla for much of the sailing back, studying the alluring aspects of her eyebrows knit in annoyance, he returned to the rest of his women. He wasn’t in the mood for sex, but he was in the mood for cuddles.

The trip back to the house was eventless. They docked where they had bought the boat, then paid someone to transfer it to Hawaii proper. After that, a flying shuttle brought them back to that island, where they took their parked car back to the property.

The mood lightened over the drive. Much as the events had soured what should have been a relaxing conquest pre-honeymoon, it was ultimately just a roadblock. John was confident he could pay Veridion back properly for what he did. He was on John’s shit-list twice over. Knocking the teeth out of an attractive woman that he had sworn to protect was already bad. He had also decided to delay the siring of the Gamer’s second child.

Still, he had no need to dwell on those emotions until he had the opportunity to act on them.

They went to bed shortly after getting back, and by the next morning, John’s libido was back in full ****. Granted, he would have needed to have switched to the other team in order to stay limp. When he opened his eyes, his head was enveloped by the combined softness of Salamander and Nathalia’s tits. His cock was in the snug embrace of Fianna’s throat. The tiger cyborg had decided to get her morning fix before getting back on mission.

After bedroom affairs were wrapped up, John moved to the living room – where he was met by a peculiar scene.

Nahoa and Aclysia occupying the kitchen was normal. The two maids were putting the finishing touches on a nice breakfast, consisting of salad, eggs, freshly baked bread and various toppings. Just an all around healthy and regular part of their day. What was neither of those things was Layla, bent over the living room table.

She had covered the entirety of it in photos and maps. Half a dozen kitchen knives had been appropriated, lying scattered in-between the pictures. ‘She wanted to use them as pins,’ Aclysia answered his query before he could make it. ‘I told her that damage to your furniture would be punished.’

Layla’s fingers drummed a steady staccato on the low table. She did not look up, only moved pictures about. A crumpled picture of Veridion was shifted from one location on the islands to another. To get a closer look, John approached. Her finding a printer in this house was perfectly believable. Her gathering all of this location data in one night was a bit more of an ask… then again, this was Layla. The art of geolocating him did probably translate into finding other things as well.

“Fianna!” The reforming stalker suddenly snapped around. Her brown hair was a wild cascade. Furiously, she pulled back the strands obstructing her vision, while staring into the soul of the sniper woman. “I need you to go here.” Her finger slammed down on a map. The location was two centimetres removed from a very sharp kitchen knife. “There should be a shrine or something of that variety. Take photos of it. Send them to Momo. If there’s anything to be translated, have her send it to me.”

“Sir?” Fianna bounced the question onto him.

Layla’s brown eyes leapt to him as well. For a moment, all her rage seemed forgotten and she squeaked like an uncontrollably hormonal woman. Then, she was right back to fury greater than all hells. If John hadn’t known Ehtra and Metra, he would have called the woman sitting on the couch the most hateful, angry person in existence. Even knowing them, there was a contest to be had…

Holding her gaze, John wondered if he should ask what this was about. Then he considered whether knowing it could potentially alter his behaviour. If Layla didn’t tell him, she must have had her reasons. She was quite thorough in her mania. “Do as she asks.”

“Yes, Sir!” The tiger-eared woman struck a swift salute, then marched off into the building to grab clothes proper for a disguise.

John watched her leave, sending a healthy dose of physical appreciation for her rear and mental appreciation for her work through the mental connection. The stoic maid turned her head halfway, giving him a playful wink before disappearing up the stairs.

“Layla?” he uttered the name, to a distracted hum. “I admire your focus, but I need you to remember to eat. It’d be a shame if your lovely thighs got thinned.” Another hum and she slowly peeled away from her map of conspiracy.

She still did not realize how close she was to getting everything she had wanted.

_____________________________________________________________

The messenger arrived on foot.

He was a local man, his skin a tropical shade of brown, his hair dark and long, pulled back into a low ponytail. Before he could even reach the doorbell, John had the electronic gate open for him. The man stopped for a brief moment, then advanced inside.

Aclysia received him. The weaponized maid glared with unhidden disdain for any ally of Veridion. It was enough to make the man nervous as he followed her inside.

John chose to make one of the other houses of the complex his audience chamber. The furniture inside had been rearranged, allowing him to use a regular armchair as an impromptu throne. It stood alone in the middle of a large room, surrounded by potted plants and his loves. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked well enough.

Nathalia stood behind him, bent over the backrest, her head hovering next to his. Sylph and Nahoa used their shortness to fit together in his lap. The remainder of their task ****, absent Fianna, was sitting or standing loosely around him. Aclysia joined her Master’s side with long strides, leaving the messenger alone by the door.

The man had initially seemed confident. Now he was gulping nervously. Was it dawning on him that the precious god of oaths he worked for wasn’t as powerful as one would have thought?

Even having two of his women in his lap failed to lift John’s mood enough to keep his anger from seeping out. It manifested as a spiritual **** in the room, causing the man to buckle as if standing under increased gravity. John **** himself to relax and ordered Aclysia, who had access to a similar aura, to do the same.

“I’m not in the habit of shooting messengers,” John said. “You have my promise that you’ll be safe, in that function.”

The man relaxed enough to clear his throat. “I am here on behest of Veridion, sworn protector of our islands,” he said the expected things. “As he has promised the venerable Mo’os, he will assure that only a worthy ruler may lay claim to Hawai’i. He does not consider you worthy.”

“Thank you, I already gathered that,” John drawled sarcastically.

“Know your place, whelp, and get to the point,” Nathalia growled. “Every word you utter delays my consummation.”

Salamander snorted in amusement. “You have waited over ten millennia, you can wait a little longer.”

“I have waited over ten millennia and I will wait not a moment longer!” The amber eyes of her human disguise glowed an incandescent white. “Speak!”

“Yes, Mother of Volcanoes!” the man blurted out with deep respect. It occurred to John that the locals would not have a fundamentally abrasive relationship with the **** that made and grew their islands. “The Keeper of Oaths and Promises suggests that you attempt to prove your worthiness through the Trial of Islands.”

‘There it is, the gamification,’ John thought. “What are these trials?”

“I do not know,” the messenger responded. “They are kept secret from even the locals, to prevent us from preparing ourselves for that which should be a proof of our virtue.”

That made enough sense in religious terms, but was bothersome to John in the moment.

“However,” the messenger continued, “I know of the structure of these trials. One king who wishes to claim these islands must come with at least six and no more than ten advisors. The king and his advisors may partake in one trial each. Who is chosen by those that represent the island and those who wish to claim it back and forth. Only a leadership that can pass at least half the trials is worthy.”

A pause offered John the chance to ask a question. “It is my understanding that there are 8 islands. What happens if the points are tied?”

The messenger shook his head. “An understandable mistake for an outsider, great emperor. The 8th trial, the trial of Kaho’olawe, is our term for war. It is not invoked towards those that respect our traditions.”

‘7 trials, 7 points, 4 points and Veridion has to back off. 4 failures and I find myself in violation of the oath I agreed to by participating.’ The Gamer weighed his options. Veridion’s powers were not so narrow that John had to explicitly say the words of an oath. It sufficed that he knew he had agreed to something and that he was in violation of it.

What happened if John refused this offer? There would be two immediate consequences. First, he would have the animosity of the locals for trampling on their traditions. John had not made personal contact with the locals yet nor did he have any idea how deeply their traditions were actually rooted in their collective conscience. All the same, if he wanted to actually rule Hawaii, not just occupy it, he was best advised to undergo these trials.

Really, if it wasn’t for Veridion, he would have agreed immediately. As the Gamer, he preferred these formalized ways of conquest greatly over beating each other over the head with large sticks until one of them was pummelled into submission.

Because of Veridion, refusing the deal was tempting. He could just march on over and punch the god in his smug face. That was an unwise impulse, however. Veridion had sent a messenger because he knew he had to flee if John refused. The god would get away and John’s reputation would be tarnished. Hell, it might even get leveraged into an official declaration of opposition by the Concord, which in turn gave every other guild on the planet carte-blanche to coalition against Fusion.

John could think that was as unfair an overreaction as he wanted to. The reality was that the Concord had that power.

“I accept,” the Gamer responded, his hesitation completely negated by the swiftness of his thoughts. “How do we proceed?”

“Beginning tomorrow, every morning, on the 7th hour of the day, you shall be summoned to an island of our choice. There, you will receive your trial from the Mo’o, the Menehune and the Kupua.”

John recognized the terms from Hawaiian mythology. Mo’o were water spirits, often taking the form of lizards (dragons, effectively). Menehune were tiny humanoids that built and crafted at night. Kupua were shapeshifters, known for being tricksters.

Having their existence confirmed was entirely within John’s frame of expectations. The European mind, and the American by proxy, had a love for ordering the world and channelling resources into the advancement of civilization. John, personally, considered that to be the correct way to live, but he acknowledged that, especially in the Abyss, living more closely with nature or, in this case, the products of Natural Barriers was entirely viable.

Magic was not a thing that had to actually obey laws. Structures observed within their metaphysical framework were more like stones rising from an ocean. Those that utilized the rare bits of certainty to the utmost advanced the furthest because certainty allowed the common person to wield magic without the need of exceptional understanding of the surrounding currents.

All the same, those surrounding currents existed and only one entity could direct their flow. Everyone else was best advised to work within the metaphysical framework as best they could. Like any ocean, magic, too, liked to get a bit stormy at times. Crashing waves reminded those on the islands that their rules were not as set as they would like to believe.

And if the whims of magic were a storm, then the Great Re-Alignment of the Abyss was a seafloor quake.

‘The creations of Natural Barriers having actual power in a society is effectively reserved to gods in western civilization… Well, actually, that’s a lie, now that I think about it. It’s just that most of the species from Natural Barriers that we kept around are highly fuckable…’ His mind turned to dwarves, gnomes, goblins, orcs and elves, all of which he had encountered at some point or another. They were minorities, sure, but they existed. ‘Small wonder I don’t have any of them in my harem, to be honest… I am off-track.’

He put his mind back to the situation in front of him. The messenger had taken a singular breath in the time it took John’s erudite mind to have chewed through all of that. “Upon receiving the details of your trial, the one to face the trial is chosen by either you or those that test you. On the first day, it shall be chosen for you.”

‘So, it will be chosen for me 4 times… slight disadvantage for me,’ John thought. “That’s all?”

“That is all.”

“Alright then, Acly- no, Nahoa, if you could give him a drive back to civilization?”

“Please, that is not necessary!” the messenger declared.

“I insist,” John said with a raised hand. “You’re not my enemy here.” ‘Besides, if you get killed on the way back, it’ll reflect poorly on me and I do not think they’re above pulling that stunt.’

“Well, then… thank you for your kindness,” the man said and bowed his head.

Nahoa rose from John’s lap, taking the lead in guiding the messenger to the car. That left the rest of them to talk amongst themselves. “That went about as I expected,” the Gamer said. “One more week to wrap this up is reasonable.”

“It’s a sufferable delay,” Nathalia stated.