Baby blue sky, gentle wind, swaying grass as far as the eye could see; they all knew where they were by now and additionally knew what was about to happen. At one time there had been 41 of them at this congregation, 41 of the most powerful and skilled people on Idroa, but the chopping block had made rounds through their number, taking those who failed to make friends, taking those who lost their gambles, taking those who paused in their journeys for a short rest. This left 17 Sovereigns now, Sovereigns who had survived through strength or guile or sheer luck.
Your previously chosen methods of ruling will appear over your heads. If you have changed your mind over this, select your new choice instead. Once again, take note that none of you can proceed until all of you decide on one method of ruling.
There was Silas, Ajit, Vivienne, Emmanuel, Katerina, Elisha, and Hou, of which Vivienne was almost dead, whereas Emmanuel and Hou looked fresh of the streets since they hadn't joined the combat at any point. There was the prophet, who looked perfect since his clones had done the dirty work, and Bobby and Hokul, who had survived through luck and strength. There was Fayiure, who had shown good sense in escaping the meadow. She did likewise here, soaring to the edge of the arena - which wasn't very far since she was still in earshot - but all distance was good distance from Silas. Contrarily, Shamu hadn't even known about the existence of a war, nor would she have troubled herself with such daft land folly if she had known. Then there was Baerl of Time, who had changed fate itself, Klope of Rain, Folding Winds, and Broken Scale who glared at Silas. They all had Meritocracy above their heads.
And finally, there was Stefan Sommer, the Chronicler, the author of the Heroes and Villains of the First Age, and the only person with Invalid Choice above his head. He was a stick-thin man with a large refined beard and combed hair. He had a learnt look to him from the expensive yet slightly-out-of-fashion clothing he wore, and additionally, he currently had a frightened-for-his-life kind of look to him. Unlike Shamu, he had made sense of the messages the System had sent him during the war, at which time he had been in Brightmoor, and he could tell that although the Titans were physically menacing, he should be far more anxious of Silas and Ajit. They were now stronger than the autocrats had been at their heyday, and even worse, the two were evidently heartless.
For this reason, all Ajit had to do was cock his head up at the Chronicler with a frown for Stefan to see all the wondrous benefits of picking Meritocracy, foremost his life. The words above his head changed immediately.
Meritocracy - Stefan Sommer (human)
There was a slight pause before the System spoke to their minds.
You have now all agreed on the same method of ruling planet 7042-189-D. It shall be ruled by a Meritocracy, subject to change should sufficient voters decide upon another method of ruling. Now decide amongst yourselves the number of voting positions and minimum requirements to join the voting population. Since you are part of a Meritocracy, over half the maximum number of votes for a policy is sufficient to enact it.
"Well, what are we saying?" Ajit asked.
"I advise we allow all Sovereigns to join our number," Emmanuel suggested after a moment. "Can't have many complaints about that."
"What's a Sovereign, though?" Vivienne asked. "Like its definition."
A Sovereign of planet 7042-189-D is currently defined as an organism that has reached rank D in either level, class, or through notable kills.
"So what, above level 100?" Vivienne thought about it for a moment. Although she was heavily injured, that made no difference in here. "Yeah, that looks good."
"It sounds fair," Elisha agreed, and Hou nodded with her.
With the humans in agreement, the matter was practically already decided since they held just under half the members. All the same, the drakkar, Bobby, Hokul, and the prophet also picked the same options as a show of unity, with only Fayiure and Shamu choosing not to have their voice heard.
The parameters have been set. You are ready to join the cosmos.
Congratulations, you have now officially joined the cosmos as planet 7042-189-D, under the supervision of planet 7042-012-B, alias Nylop, while you take your first steps into the wider universe. Nylop has been informed of their duty, and they will contact you soon to offer you guidance. If you find their guidance insufficient, contact us and we will assign another supervisor for you.
Before anyone knew what was happening, they were all returned to Idroa, back to where they had been before getting yoinked. Silas was on the battlefield with Ajit and several thousands of other soldiers, and the first thing he noticed was that his Sovereign-sense was gone, an absence in his sensory input. It seemed the hunting period really was over.
"Isn't that funny?" Ajit asked from beside him. "We went through all that trouble for something that wrapped itself up in a minute or two."
Silas smirked but without any feeling as he remembered the exact trouble he had been through, or more accurately, the trouble he had caused. He dragged a hand down his face, pulling it out of shape, and felt drained by the time he finished, almost as if that had been the action keeping all his fatigue and mental wounds away. "Man, the shit I did… I don't even know where to start…"
"There'll be plenty of time to grieve afterwards," the Warlock said, facing him with a straight face. "But you should check on those who're still alive first. There'll be things you can do for them that you can't do for the dead."
Seeing reason in his words, Silas was about to leave for the Riverside camp in gratitude when he heard trouble coming his way. Surrounding soldiers were making noise as Broken Scale paved his way through them, his expression stormy and vengeful. He was followed by Klope and Baerl, the first who appeared distraught, the second pensive. Nearby, the last of the drakkar Sovereigns, Folding Winds, was being healed by Elisha, alongside several hundreds of others, including Vivienne and Ulysses. Despite her injuries, Folding Winds forced herself up and took after her kin.
The party of drakkar stopped before Silas and Ajit, but their focus was wholly on the former.
"You murdered my brother, who had come with you to aid you. Yet you betrayed his trust and killed him. You must pay the price," Broken Scale announced in a mighty voice. He clenched his massive greatsword with a shaking grip.
Silas considered the message, then offered a humourless smile. "Oh, don't worry, I already did."
Broken Scale gave deep thought to these words as he paused and his expression of anger melted into confusion. Eventually, however, he shook his head as if to clear it, and set his face with conviction. "So it may be, but I still demand the blood price. And if you think I have no right to demand it, then I will fight you for it."
"No, you can't," Klope shrieked, breaking the tone of the scene. "Don't commit such idiocy!"
Broken Scale ignored her and turned to Baerl instead. "Great Dragon, grant me this right," he said with a bowed head.
There was a long pause during which Baerl of Time stood motionless, but then he closed his eyes and softly said, "Granted."
Folding Winds had pushed her way in beside her kin now, but she said nothing. Silas thought he saw a flicker of sorrow in her eyes.
He himself watched the scene proceed with an aching in his heart, knowing this was a consequence of his actions. How could he rightfully deny such a request? All the same, he wasn't eager to die. Sighing despondently, he crouched and picked up his spear and beckoned at Broken Scale. "Whenever you're ready."
The Titan nodded, then motioned to the surrounding soldiers to widen the circle into a proper duelling arena. They followed without complaint, curious about what was to happen, whereas most of the present Sovereigns were shaking their heads. This was anything but a duel.
Broken Scale went to the edge of the circle and turned towards Silas, nodding one last time. "I come for the blood price, now." And so he did, unbridling the pain and fury inside his heart, his steps booming on the ground and frightening the surrounding soldiers who realised in full clarity how frightening he was. Should his greatsword hit Silas, it would crush rather than cleave the human.
Despite this, Silas moved casually, stretching his free arm in front for balance while his other arm pulled back with his spear, all his recovered mana transforming into electricity that crackled and seethed over its length, covering its body with a shifting veil of fury. He pulled his arm back to its limit, careless of the nearing Titan, then let loose, flinging it with such force it gored through the Titan's scaled breast and threw him into the air. Broken Scale shook and screamed as he thudded into the ground, convulsing severely even as he tried to force himself up. It was over.
The other drakkar dipped their heads to Silas in gratitude that he had spared their kin, but Silas was in no capacity to accept their grace. He had already killed too many today, snuffed so many lives, that he couldn't bring himself to take another, especially when he had no reason to. He took back his spear and left for the Riverside camp, being celebrated by weary and injured men and women on his way back. It all chipped away at his heart, or at least at what was left of it.
He found his way to his friends easily but found them in the thick of gloom. Before he spoke, he saw the reason why as he spotted two battered corpses lain side by side, Josh and Natalie. Iris broke out of her sobbing on his entrance and rushed to him. He caught her and hugged her tightly, feeling her tears on his armour and his heart tearing apart, each consecutive rip cutting into him. Mia caught his gaze from some metres off and nodded, her face wrinkled and bloody and grimy. He would only learn from her later that Josh had led a reckless charge against the Brightmoor soldiers when they had teleported in beside Riverside's mages. The Nemesis had succeeded in protecting them but had died for it, and following that Natalie had gone crazy and suicide bombed herself into the Brightmoor troops.
Of the 10 000 troops that had come here from Riverside and New Derby, only 4000 were returning. This survival rate was the average for the defenders as a whole, too. They had won the war, sure enough, but the price had been steep. Life had been reaped in its hundreds and thousands and tens of thousands from the collapsing rampart to the eternal horde to the ambushing armies. War was a grisly business, and it rarely rewarded those who kept loyal to it.