Stratas of Fusion 3 – Between Politics and Workers

Hank’s every living moment was a struggle against entropy.

“Why should I ever care that there is a massive emergency on the mainland?” he barked into the microphone. “I have a bunch of small emergencies right here!”

The voice on the other side mumbled a half-serious apology, then hung up. Hank did not care. He sipped on his coffee, cursing when the freshly poured liquid burned the tip of his tongue through that little plastic hole in the lid. The only reason why Hank did not tear it off was that he would have scalding hot coffee on his hand otherwise. He was marching at rapid speed.

“Why do I have to deal with everything in person?” Hank asked out loud.

“Because the whole world is against you.”

The response was delivered with mocking flickers of light. Hank’s eternal conflict made manifest hovered alongside him. He was a ball of silver, glowing more or less intensely as the intonation of his words shifted. This was his preferred form when dealing with most people. It fit Hank just fine, the speaking light ball raised less questions than the disembodied dragon head.

“You say that ironically, but it is true,” Hank grunted.

“I have seen what it means when the whole world is against you,” Enki responded with all the arrogance a dragon god, even a former one, could muster. “I have seen the armies of Babylon and Indus crash against the walls of Akkad, have seen the madness of Mother Chaos, have felt the might of Gaia tear apart my body. You think your little bureaucratic issues compare to the annihilation of a whole civilization?”

“Yes,” Hank barked back.

He did not actually think that, but the dragon was always this way. Any little complaint had got upstaged by this ancient and oh-so-venerable being. It was insufferable, especially when he had this much work to do.

“For someone who has seen so many great and terrible things,” Hank continued, voice dripping in venom and lack of caffeine. He alleviated the latter with a quick sip. “You sure like to waffle instead of fixing things.”

“I am not expected to arrive anywhere before you do,” Enki responded slickly.

“I would challenge that, but I know you’d get something wrong before I get there.”

“You- doubting my competence?!” The light of the silver orb flared intensely. “I am the god of stars and magic.”

“Were,” Hank corrected harshly.

Despite the lack of them, there was the gnashing of teeth. “You truly are an insufferable cur, Hank.”

“And you are an arrogant monster turned helper AI,” Hank responded and took another sip. “If you want to cut this conversation short, just fly ahead already. I got another call coming in.”

“May a halo of stars close around your neck,” Enki cursed in an even voice, before flying away. A Sentry Golem ran after him immediately.

The creation of the Guild Hall had been assigned to the custodian of the space by order of the president. It helped give the creature a physical presence and served as his way to engage with items when necessary. Hank was thankful that it was a Sentry Golem rather than a hired bodyguard. The golems could be programmed with strict limitations. People could be convinced to knock teeth out. For all his arrogance, Enki could be quite persuasive.

In that lay the issue Hank had with having the dragon around. They hated each other. At least, Hank hated the dragon. Every little accomplishment Hank could eke out over the course of the day was turned into no big deal by the creature whose golden age was so far behind it Hank didn’t even know it. Something about Akkad, which was some old, dusty place, that Hank now refused to read about on principle.

However, Enki was competent, that was clear.

That had been an initial boon. However, as it had turned out, incompetence of minions and coworkers had been the only thing between Hank and more work. Now that he got more done, he was assigned more stuff so ultimately his workload had barely changed. Momo had given him a spreadsheet that said he worked 15% less now, but Hank did not feel that at all. He was still running around all day, putting out fires that people were simply too idiotic to fix.

Hank finished the rest of his coffee as quickly as he could without burning himself further. The hot brew sat in his stomach, a pleasant warmth in this average temperature. Now that the First Lady and her heat fetish were out of town, the Guild Hall thermostat had been turned down to an agreeable 17 degrees.

‘I should write a formal complaint about favouritism in the workplace,’ Hank thought. ‘…No… I just need to work a few more years and then cash in that fat pension.’ He could imagine it now… his own mansion… the idyllic landscape of his private property… piles of cash… nothing to do… sit around all day… ‘…Maybe I will work another year.’

Hank tossed the coffee cup at a Cleaning Slime as he passed it. The creature did not pick it up, instead wobbling in a different direction.

“Huh?” Hank made an audible sound of surprise. He had never once seen one of the Cleaning Slimes ignore a meal. In confusion, he ran a hand through his hair. A tactical mistake. He realized that it was greasy and scratching his chin after revealed the beard he had been growing. Sleeping at work 3 days in a row was not good for his looks.

Having other things to worry about than an unresponsive Cleaning Slime, Hank continued along. Five steps away, he stopped, turned around, scooped up the cup again and carried it along to the nearest waste bin. He would NOT be the one known to have left the first sticking litter in the Guild Hall.

After all, it was clean.

Hank had not known cleanliness for much of his life. He had lived as a thief before Fusion had come along and given him more constructive uses for being clever. His near lack of mana had been his cloak in the old days, now it did not matter whatsoever. He was quick on his feet and did the jobs everyone else was too stupid for.

It did beat the old life in every aspect. There was less danger. The same lack of power that had made Hank invisible to other Abyssals in a crowd had made it so that a single mistake would be the end of him. Now he had the backing of the entire state apparatus. If someone smacked him, he was a priority target for protection by the sentinels.

Throwing his trash into the heart of a Guild that had given him this much was entirely wrong. The streets of New York City deserved it, on both sides.

Hank looked at the busy streets of the Commercial District with a degree of resignation. Every day, it got a little more crowded there. More and more people streamed in from the vast empty stretches of the Abyssal USA, preferring to live where there was work and utilities over their previously safe isolation somewhere in the great plains. More and more merchants pulled into the Harbour with larger and larger ships, to buy and sell in equal measure. Bit by bit, the workforce housed in the Hudson Barrier came to match what could be extracted from the Mines, the Logging Camp, the Fishery, and all the other raw resource Buildings in a day.

Hank did feel a swelling of pride in his chest. Was it really so bad to work himself to the bone to be part of this? His efforts were, in a part much larger than those of most people, responsible for raising a new world capital. Perhaps, in due time, it would be THE world capital.

His steps brought him closer and closer to the Guild Bank. Somehow, someone did not understand how the interface worked, and because they were important enough to raise a stink, that had escalated all the way up to Hank, the Central Guild Hall Overseer. A fancy title with fancy payments.

The fact that he had to deal with retards like this wiped the beginnings of a smile right back off Hank’s face.

‘It’s piss easy to navigate, how do people manage to screw it up so consistently?’ he asked himself. ‘More importantly, why do so many of these people manage to fail upwards?’ Regularly, there would have been a few people just below Hank that could have gone there in his stead, but they had all been ordered to the Bae Circle to make sure that ****-fiend did not snort the gathered mountain of mind-altering substances that were pulsing through the veins of the Red Light district.

Whether they really needed everyone, Hank dared to question. How powerful could this Hypercrush fellow really be? To Hank, most Abyssals above the average just moved at untraceable speeds. Certainly, he wouldn’t be able to stand up to one of the Sentry Golems. With that thought on his mind, Hank turned the corner into the Guild Hall.

To witness the exact moment Hypercrush popped the head of Enki’s guardian like a metallic egg.

Golden metal and white stone scattered throughout the room. A piece struck Hank in the chest, blocked by the high quality of the enchanted suit, only to disappear into a cloud of dancing motes. The rest of the Sentry Golem’s body followed, dissolving into particles and useless dust, like creations of the Gamer’s powers usually did.

Hank stared at the situation wide-eyed for only a half second before his mind snapped back into motion. The thoughts tumbled over each other. ‘That was an Ohmior Sentinel, those things shouldn’t be that- What is he even doing- My day just got- Shit!’

“To stand between me and the highest of highs is a blasphemy that cannot be described!” Hypercrush spoke. He would have looked ridiculous with his white/rainbow hair and that cheesy superhero-esque bodysuit, had it not been for the fact that he was a two-metre tall mountain of muscle that moved through the room in an instant.

He was now in front of a soldier, just a normal man in uniform who was stationed in the Building to assure that no one opened any doors they were not supposed to. A drawn sword was turned into shards of metal with a casual swat of the Latebloomer.

“To draw your sword against the messenger of the ****! SUCH VILE STRUGGLE AGAINST ENLIGHTENMENT CAN ONLY BE PUNISHED WITH PAIN!”

Hank did not even see the blow happen. One moment the soldier was standing, the next his head was gone, the wall behind it cracked. Hypercrush’s fist was wrist-deep in the solid stone. Gore splattered over the wall and his clothes. His manic grin twisted into a frown of disappointment.

“Whoopsie,” he said, as if he had just bent a plastic fork a bit too far.

Abyssals were made from stern stuff, but even they were not completely immune to panic. A woman screamed and finally the deadly silence over the main chamber of the Guild Hall was lifted. People ran out of the chamber, making for the open exits. Hank would have loved to run with them. Alas, he had a responsibility and he would NOT be the one to fall short of his job description. He did, however, jump behind the nearest counter to be out of view of the ****-fuelled monstrosity of a human.

“Emergency Deployment Demanded,” Hank whispered.

“Emergency deployment of what, my brother in caffeine?” Hypercrush asked. His voice was unsteady, manic, and knotted up Hank’s insides. Why did these superhumans have to have such horridly good senses? “You should try cocaine instead! That is the true high! You will never feel more awa-“

In a flash of purple light, the teleportation spell of the Sentry Station activated and through it came the Ohmior Warden.

Hank smirked at the entity when it appeared in the room. It was a giant, 2 and a half metres, made entirely of interlocking plates. It looked like it was straight out of the forges of heaven: mithril white, gold and silver trimmed, and armoured so completely that only the glowing blue orbs within the dark slit of its helmet betrayed the animating magic within. It arrived armed with a tower shield the size of an athlete and a sword that could bisect a tree in one swing.

Now that Hypercrush fellow was done for.

“Another can for me to bust open before I reach for my treasure? Bring it! The cold vibes of your automated heart cannot compete with the double beat of my speeding blood!” Hypercrush announced.

“Kill that man, Alpha Prioris!” Hank shouted another order at the Ohmior Warden.

The next thing Hank knew was that he was flying alongside a cloud of rubble.

The Ohmior Warden was not supposed to be deployed in any but the most dire circumstances. Even if a murderer was loose, the sheer power of this ‘level 300’ entity would destroy too much if it was used carelessly. A fact that Hank now experienced himself. He was flung out into the street, cleaned out for dozens of metres in all directions. A sharp piece of cracked rock slammed into his side. The enchanted fabric prevented Hank’s impalement, but a surging pain in his abdomen informed him that something inside him had ruptured all the same.

Hank clenched his teeth and swallowed the pain. His field of view was swimming. His will was strong, but his body did not keep up. ‘Should have gone to the Training Hall!’ he criticized himself. He looked around, trying to understand what was going on. A silver sphere entered his field of view. It took him several blinks to realize that it was actually there and not just a part of the dancing lights of overstimulated optic nerves.

“I-“ Enki stated.

People, too curious for their own good, were just a few dozen metres away from it all.

“You- soon-“

Hank stared at the custodian with a groggy blink. His mouth was dry but his lips were wet. He realized his nose was broken.

“Weak flesh- that- cost-“

Hank tilted his head and in doing so saw the battle between Hypercrush and the Ohmior Warden. They were blurs of motion, torsos and heads still somewhere visible, while their limbs were a loose collection of afterimages. Hank slowly became aware of the gusts of wind washing over him, unleashed by the exchange of blows. He also became aware of the walls that had been blown out of the front of the Building.

“IDIOT!” Enki’s voice finally cut through the haze.

“What?” Hank asked. “Where the fuck… were you?” he grunted through the pain.

“Coordinating!” Enki let out an exasperated cry. “I will repeat it for you, weak flesh: You called the Warden too soon! I was coordinating the Warden of the Golden Rose and Trashpexus to collapse on this position simultaneously with it!”

Hank stared at the sphere for a moment. He wanted to say that was a ridiculous amount of overpreparation, but… for all the disdain he had for Enki’s declaration of past glory, he had been a god. Alarmed, Hank’s eyes darted back to the fight.

Hypercrush laid into the Ohmior Warden. Many of his punches slammed into the shield, but some struck true, leaving dents in the centimetres thick Mithril plate. Hank’s mouth hung open in shock. “I am… fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” Enki growled, a noise that should have come from a dragon’s throat.

“HYYYYYYYYYYPER-CRUUUUUUUUUSHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!”

The singular yell preceeded the end to the blurs of motion. With such **** that the ground shattered and cratered, as if struck by a meteor, the ****-fuelled mage brought joined hands down. Metal bent under flesh, the Latebloomer’s power deforming the helmet of the Ohmior Warden and shoving it halfway down into the chest cavity. A kick swiftly followed, sending the golem into the crowd. Hank saw gore splatter as the people in the front were turned into a broken paste.

“OH YEAH!” The inhuman man applauded himself. Beating his chest several times.

Hank could only stare, his field of view slowly narrowing. He wiped a hand over his face. It came back entirely slick with fresh redness. Suddenly he realized how cold he was and how little that bothered him. ‘I’m about to die from blood loss,’ he realized. He looked back up, to see Hypercrush grab the tear.

He held it, bunched it up like fabric, and strained with all his might against something. A tear in space opened, behind it a swimming dimension of things. Hank’s vision grew narrower still. It felt like he was looking through a tunnel. A long, long tunnel, with no light at the end. Even in that state, his seasoned thief’s eyes managed to see what Hypercrush pulled out of the Guild Bank Storage.

It was a small pouch made from two lilac flower petals, sown together with golden string.

“FOR THE LADY!” That was the last thing he heard before falling ****.