January 18th, 2022
***
Carson II - or at least the city they arrived in - was what Richter envisioned the future would look like. Mega-corporations and skyscrapers of impossible size towered over residents and small businesses. Hover cars operated on a separate plane, flying sky-high within view of their high-rise apartment window. The planet appeared to be thriving, as though there was no threat to their lives. No System. But that wasn't true.
"Make yourself at home." Drek plopped down onto the dusty couch and kicked his feet up.
"Stel, head over and let Father know we made it."
Stel scurried out of the apartment with a contract clenched in his hands.
"Ignore the mess. I don't come here often." He brushed off the upholstery and made his way over to the kitchen where a few dirty dishes were molding in the sink. It was rancid, but Richter had smelled far worse over the past week.
Drek crouched down, rummaging through a mini fridge for a bottle of aged whiskey. He poured two shots and slid one over.
Richter eyed the drink with concealed caution. "I don't drink."
Drek didn't seem to mind. He downed both and looked up at him, waiting for Stel's footsteps to disappear as he rolled the glasses around the countertop.
"Look, this is gonna sound stupid, but I need a favor. Please, whatever Father asks of you, try to keep Stel out of it."
Richter was taken aback. "You're right, that is stupid. Why? Do you think he'll be in danger?"
"Maybe. But more than that, I don't want to see him corrupted. Stel's a good kid." Drek's face scrunched up as he murmured, "He hasn't seen the legacy our name is built on — nor the deeds we performed to stay in the top three families. That legacy is why I left the family in the first place."
"You're not making me very optimistic about working with your dad."
Drek walked over to the balcony door, staring at the horizon as he spoke, "I'm telling you all this in the hopes that you'll agree. I know we didn't give you a choice, and I don't trust you. It's just that I trust the families even less."
Richter felt the weight of what lay ahead building up. Worse was the rhetoric; it was hard to sift through. He'd noticed it back on Earth, but Drek excelled at persuasion. The way he phrased and maneuvered through conversation — it was all to paint the situation as an 'Us vs. Them'. As if a problem for Drek was a problem for Richter too.
The issues he had with the families should be personal. There's no reason for Richter to treat them with as much prejudice. He needed to probe a little - test how hard Drek was selling it.
"What are the odds I get to live if I fulfill your dad's mission?"
"Slim. And stop calling him my 'dad'. Father is a title given to the head of the family, it doesn't denote blood relation. Plenty of kids were adopted or picked up off the street."
Richter grimaced, asking one final question. "And my odds if I keep Stel out of it?"
There was a flicker of hesitation, "Better. I can get scrolls to take you back through Vermont and to Earth. You could vanish the moment you get done," Drek grinned.
The same grin he wore when they confronted him in the dungeon with the Vikten Queen. It was self-assured. Relaxed. When Richter didn't respond he added a little extra.
"A favor from someone like me could go a long way. Just think about it."
The conversation came to a close as an elevator rang down the hall. A new pair of footsteps trailed toward the apartment. Richter's Sense slipped out, matching them to a small girl marching for the front door. She reached for the handle — turning and twisting. It was locked.
"Who—"
Her strength spiked. Richter's words died in his throat as she tore the door off its hinges. The deadbolt snapped in two, ricocheting around the room and through a window. Glass shards rained down over the street below.
"I told you not to lock it."
The door fell flat with a loud bang, made possible because the handle detached — still clenched in her grip. It blew a flurry of dust around the room from the force of impact. She stepped around it, glancing between them with pursed lips. Strangely, she looked young and old at the same time. She had freckles and rosy cheeks, with brown hair tucked in a ponytail. Her green eyes looked like spotlights - bright and illuminating.
"You came quick.
Drek seemed unphased by her appearance. He motioned in her general direction while pouring another shot.
"This is Clare. You're in her hands now. Don't forget what I said, Richter."
Clare beckoned him over with a finger, "Let's go. I'll be handling some basic prep before you meet with Father."
Left without a choice, Richter followed behind her and down the hall to an elevator. The height difference was devastating. He felt rude just being near her. Clare couldn't have been taller than fifty-eight inches. And he was seventy-four.
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
She clicked the button, then drove her elbow back into his chest in one smooth flick.
"Stop pitying me. I can feel— Oh. Did I break a rib? Your Constitution must be exceptionally ass. Rookie mistake. You'll need to fix that in the future."
Richter would have responded if he could. There was a dent in his abdomen. She slipped him a Healing Potion as the elevator door slid open, welcoming them to the ground floor. Contrary to Drek's mess, the lobby was fancy - full of gold-plated decorations and checkered walls. A handful of others looked their way, but none stared long with Clare around.
"C'mon, we've got a lot to cover."
She led him out of the revolving door. He was more interested in the city than what she was saying.
It was surreal to be among humans from a different planet. Richter was the odd one out, and he felt it.
"Pay attention. Or do you need another elbow? I won't be paying for it next time."
"Go ahead."
She led him down the city streets, past high-tech gyms and offices. On every corner was some form of dojo or training space, each offering different lessons. It was fascinating to see a society that adapted to the System. Dozens of participants lined up inside or were sparring.
They valued fighting so highly. Others practiced breathing exercises or mana manipulation. But it was hard to tell exactly how. He just sensed the flow of energy. This was the norm here. He wondered if Earth would turn out the same given enough time.
"Father hates idiots, and you don't know much. So I have to fill in some information before you meet him. Did Drek explain what a 'family' is?"
Richter shook his head.
"Typical. A 'family' is the same as a sect, a guild, or a faction. There are minor differences for each, but all that matters is they represent a unified whole. You attack one member...you attack them all. Every planet has to reconcile with its weaknesses. A single individual can only go so far.
Walking further, they hit a shift in architecture. The buildings here had curved edges and arches. Everyone wore shades of dark blue clothing with a symbol embroidered proudly on the left shoulder. It looked like an 's' stacked three times at different angles.
"Carson II went through that phase. Earth will too. Decades ago, strong individuals decided to form 'families' to rebuild. Back then, cities across the world were razed; homelessness was common. They'd recruit anybody to boost their family. And it worked — Carson II drove back their first Calamity. With the immediate threat dealt with, the families turned on each other to secure resources. They killed, stole, bickered, then killed some more until the three strongest families emerged.
She led him down a side route to a beat-up brick house. The interior was as rough as the exterior. Splinters of wood and chair legs were sprinkled around a stained carpet. The kitchen tile had cracked and split, with some chunks missing to reveal the concrete foundation beneath. Clare led him over to a padlocked door, used a key, and nudged him down the stairs.
"Time to see what you can do." Clare flicked a lever, bringing the underground space to life. Strips of lights lit in sequence to unveil a spacious facility. Punching bags, weapon racks, balance beams, and other gadgets lined the walls. It was like the culmination of every training in one room.
"Father wants a detailed report." She cracked her knuckles, allowing a wry smile to grace her lips. "This will be faster. But don't worry, you'll be spending a lot of time here. It's where you'll train."
"So I guess I just have to win?"
Clare doubled over, laughing until her sides hurt. "There is no winning for you; you have no chance. Your goal is to stay standing as long as possible. But if I allowed everything then this would be a meaningless test. So I won't use my bloodline or mana."
Richter would have been offended if not for the danger oozing from her body. She ignored the weapons, adopting a stance with her elbows tucked and hands raised. Clare distributed her weight evenly and led with her right foot. Remarkably, it reminded him of Muay Thai. He felt her eyes roam over every point of contact - planning out her attacks.
Fist fights and unarmed opponents didn't get his blood pumping like a sword did. Perhaps she never used weapons, but it dimmed his enthusiasm. He opted not to draw his katana and shifted to a side stance with his right shoulder leading.
"Go ahead."
She launched forward, uprooting the floor in her wake as she threw a left hook at his face.
His eyes lit up blue long before the attack reached him. Then his body. And for the first time, Clare felt a hint of intrigue toward the man named Richter.
[Mana Flow - 100%]
He long felt that his usage of mana was too limited; there had to be more to it. Using it in a burst created incredible speed and force, but it was terrible for a prolonged fight. So what if he stretched out the duration? Instead of applying it at the last second, he could drip-feed mana throughout his entire body to function as a passive boost. And if necessary, he'd pump more mana to specific muscles like a traditional Surge.
This was the first test, more like a proof of concept. But as he ducked under Clare's fist and outside her guard, Richter felt a small thrill. He wanted to perfect it. Now was the best chance to start.
His body shifted back to avoid an elbow and shin sweep. Punches, jabs, and kicks followed in rapid succession, aimed at his chest and head.
A test? This felt more like an execution. He weaved between attacks to strike her back leg, but her body felt like solid iron. Forget knocking her off balance, just kicking her bruised his skin. And it left him vulnerable.
"Did that hurt?"
Clare stomped her left heel into the ground and began to twist — the meanest roundhouse kick was on its way. Her right leg swung around in an arc, narrowly missing his chin. But she didn't stop at one. Using inhuman agility, she increased her torque to complete another three-sixty. Her left foot pushed off the ground, suspending her in mid-air.
She delivered two, then three, then a fourth kick that grazed the sweat on his cheek. The distance was too close to avoid a fifth. He weaved his hands together as a net to intercept her heel. It was all he had left.
Collision.
He exhausted the last drops of mana as he fought to soften the blow. There was nothing left to give. His hands came apart - fingers broken - as his body was propelled like a missile across the facility. His back hit the far wall with a sickening crunch and his vision blurred. The world faded to black with the last sight being a smirk and the rim of a potion between his lips.
"Color me impressed, Richter."
The rest of her words were lost as he blacked out.
***