System Finale: An Apocalyptic Space Opera LitRPG (The System Apocalypse Book 12) Page 8

  “It’s not that simple,” Bolo says. “The war had damaged our people, such that it was decided to wait until an opportune time came to deal with them. Driving out the last vestiges, including the Egg Layers, would have seen them release whatever doomsday scenarios they had. And we’re certain there are some.”

  I grunt in acknowledgement.

  “What scenarios?” Mikito says, frowning.

  While I was busy getting a data download, I vaguely recall Ali giving them all a brief rundown of what the Swarm really is. No one needed the sheer volume of detail I’d received to understand “Swarm bad. Do not disturb.”

  “They travel through space. How do you think they do that?” I say.

  “By using their dead bodies,” Harry says, frowning. “Isn’t that what Ali just said?”

  “Sure, for the structure and body, yeah. But how do they steer?”

  There’s silence at that question, before the Yerrick, having grown bored with the entire Q&A we’ve been doing, answers simply. “The Swarm have dedicated anti-matter members that form and create chain reactions in their bodies. Consuming the flesh of their own, they power the anti-matter thrusters to drive them onward.”

  “Exactly,” Bolo says. “And in the event of potential losses, to defend their Egg Layers, those anti-matter specializers will destroy themselves.”

  “So you just leave them alive? To Level?” I frown, shaking my head. That makes no sense.

  “We go in and cleanse them once in a while. Deal with their numbers and high-Levels. There are numerous bounties involved, and of course, their bodies are highly prized,” Bolo replies. “It is a common way for those of the lower Class to gain the necessary Skills and Levels to survive.” He touches his scalemail. “And their skin can be quite useful.”

  “Wait, that’s not dragon scale?” I say.

  My words horrify both Bolo and Yllis. “You think I would wear a dragon’s skin?”

  “What kind of barbarian are you, to wear the skin of a friend?” Yllis says, recoiling from me.

  I open my mouth to explain D&D and Earth folklore, then snap my mouth shut. There’s utterly nothing I could say that would make what I said better. So instead, I change tack.

  “You make it sound like people go in all the time. So what’s the problem with us going in?” I say.

  “Because your System Administrator Center is in the heart of their nest,” Yllis says.

  “Oh. Yeah, okay, that tracks,” I say resignedly.

  That’s just about right, really.

  Chapter 8

  I wish I could say the resulting conversation did not involve a lot of shouting and even more grumbling, whining, and pleading. The last two mostly by me. The Storm Warden wanders away after a while, utterly bored with the discussion. I never get around to asking what the heck he’s still doing with us, since the argument goes on until late at night before Bolo declares the conversation over and walks deeper into the cave-system-slash-safe-house, followed by Yllis.

  Truth be told, I’d love to tell them we don’t have to go. But I don’t exactly have any other leads, and while I might be able to access another System Administrator Center, doing so is a huge risk. It’s not one I’m willing to take unless all our other options are out.

  Including walking into a Valley of Certain Death.

  And really, it’s not a Valley of Certain Death, but more a Valley of Certain Death without a Full Flight of Dragons and a few Ancient Dragons Backing You Up. See, even the Dragon Kings—because you didn’t bring anything but Heroics with you—and dragons know better than to let the damn Voowmah grow without check. So every century or so, they get together and burn the nest to the ground again, killing a bunch of high Level Voowmah along the way, then back out.

  All very ritualized and civilized.

  Kind of like changing the detonators on a nuclear warhead. You got to do it every once in a while, because you don’t want them to explode on you by accident. But it’s still a butt-clenching exercise, with lots of caution and careful, detailed steps involved. And not, you know, done by your local yahoo off a random street corner with a spanner in hand and grease on his pants with the tenner you slipped him sticking out of a pocket.

  If you haven’t guessed, I have absolutely no idea how nukes work.

  Just like I don’t really have a clue how to convince my allies that we need to do this. It’s why I’m seated at the dining room table alone, hours later. Ali went invisible after the first hour of me prodding him for help and a debrief, muttering something about needing to finish Forever Knight.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him.

  That’s where Mikito finds me. The tiny—really, just over five feet or so—Japanese lady doesn’t say a thing while she brews both of us a pot of tea, using some of her precious green tea from home before setting the cups before me. I sip the drink in silence, enjoying the heat and warmth, not even scalding my tongue on the boiling water. Yay Resistances.

  “They’ll come around,” Mikito says eventually.

  “They? Not you?” I reply.

  “You know I go where you go,” she replies easily.

  I don’t even wince at that pronouncement, not anymore. I’ve given up on trying to get her to give up on that line of thought. And truth be told, I rely on her. The way you rely on your dominant hand, missing it when it’s gone. Yeah, I really do hate losing limbs.

  “Then thank you,” I say.

  She sniffs at me, her nose wrinkling a little as she does. I can almost hear the word she wants to say, but she doesn’t. Which is rather nice of her.

  “How’d you do it?” I say instead, changing the topic.

  “Mmmm… with difficulty.” Mikito sips the tea for a second, making me wait. “The first problem was locating your prison. Thankfully, that just required a few missions for one of the elder Dragons that Yllis knew. Then we had to find a way to draw away enough of their reinforcements for the break-in…”

  I listen intently as Mikito weaves, in her simple and straightforward way, a tale of intense planning, cunning, and numerous side missions to free me. Everything from finding allies in the most unlikely of places, individuals who wanted revenge or to free another within, to suborning members of the guards to gain information on the prison itself.

  A long tale, one filled with numerous hijinks and always, always rushed so that they could pull things together. The fact that they managed to weave together the shaky alliance that managed to break into the prison, set free a number of the individuals within before they ejected the rest of us, and more importantly, plan for the ejection to retrieve me is a wonder.

  It’s also a testament to how hard the Galactic Council has been suppressing the races and empires. There were, for sure, individuals within the prison who deserved to be captured and contained. Many who needed to die really—and boy, was the knowledge of who was there helpful in gaining allies—but others had just crossed the Council in one way or another and been unjustly captured.

  Among them, the Storm Warden.

  “What is his story?” I say, once she winds down. I gesture with my head toward where the big Yerrick is sitting near the entrance, meditating. The big minotaur, seated cross-legged, breathing slowly as tiny thunderstorms form around his body, unleashing lightning that bounces off wet fur, is quite the sight. And smell. Wet cow in close quarters is not a great smell, though I’m not going to mention it to the Yerrick.

  “Rebellion,” Mikito says simply.

  I frown, but the Library has nothing to offer. Civil disobedience and history is only a passing interest to the Questors. And with literal tens of thousands of years of history involved in the Galactic Council, there’s only so much space devoted to something like that.

  “So, he going to leave us or…?” I trail off, uncertain why he’d bother to follow us. In fact, I’m not entirely sure why Bolo or Yllis are willing to help us further, though I know Bolo feels he owes me something. Personally, I consider us fair and square, but I won’t ar
gue about additional help.

  “I do not know. I do not think he has a place to go back to though,” she replies. “His nation was destroyed after they ‘killed’ him, leaving them vulnerable to be taken by his rivals. His people scattered. You know the rest of his story, yes?”

  I nod. I recall Capstan, the story of their people. Their planet overrun, their people scattered and forced to live as mercenaries and refugees the world over. Small clans attempting to reestablish themselves wherever they could. It was an object lesson I had taken to heart early on, one that made me try to head off the same fate for humanity.

  That thought turned to what I did recently, the way I had betrayed Earth. Sure, my reasoning had been sound in my mind. I needed to put Earth back into a footing where they might struggle now, but at least they weren’t wasting resources trying to play the same damn political game that was stacked against them from the start anyway.

  Now, the rules for Earth are gone, the stakes clear, and the pieces revealed. They can either fight and win or roll over and let the various corporations, guilds, mini kingdoms, and other interest groups take Earth over. They had ten years to build up, grow in strength. Now, they have to prove themselves.

  Or so I tell myself.

  “A man out of time and place.” There’s a trace of sadness in my voice, one that I’m surprised to hear. It takes me a few seconds to realize that sadness is also laced with understanding, because that’s what I am too in a way. What most of us humans are.

  “A powerful ally.” Mikito finishes the tea in her cup and refills it, glancing at my mostly untouched cup.

  I down it at her glance and nod thanks as she refills it. “We need all the help we can get.” I pause, then let loose the thought that worries me most of all. “If they know where we’re going… if they can find us. I don’t think they’ll hold back. Not anymore.”

  “Legendarys.” She speaks the word I fear to.

  I nod.

  “Can we beat them?”

  “Depends on the Legendary, I guess. If they aren’t paying attention, if they aren’t too powerful, if they don’t have too many defensive enchantments, if they didn’t put too many points into their Constitution or Resistances…” I know how dumb I sound.

  “No, then.”

  I reluctantly nod. The problem isn’t just the health most Legendarys have or even the passive Resistances many Classes get. It’s the fact that most Legendarys have taken decades, if not centuries, to reach their level and have stayed there, meaning they’ve had the chance to buy and upgrade the enchantments keeping them alive. And, obviously, keeping themselves alive is rather important, so most have a variety of methods to do so.

  Even the Weaver, whose entire Class doesn’t involve doing damage, is enough to take us down. Or, at the very least, she has the ability to run away from us before we can kill her. But the simple fact is, they won’t be sending any of the non-damage dealers to stop us.

  “Who do you think they’ll send?” Mikito asks.

  “Some Senior Admins. Hopefully that bitch…” I snarl, rage flashing through me for a second. I have to push it down, though it’s a struggle.

  She doesn’t even flinch at the abrupt spike of anger, somewhat used to me. She does raise an eyebrow at me, until I settle my breathing and emotions.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  “Probably Kasva,” I continue.

  Mikito nods, recalling the Champion of the Council that we’ve faced before and who we definitely know is around. In fact, Bolo and Mikito had a couple of clashes with the bastard over the month plus I was locked up.

  “He’s their everyday goon and seems to have a hard-on for us. For their Legendary…” I pause, reviewing what I know of who they have alive.

  Interestingly enough, the majority of the Legendary powers aren’t aligned with any side of the conflict. Most prefer to do their own thing and have the power to make sure they’re left alone. Like the Legendary Pilot who flew around on his personal planet.

  Only those like the Dragon, who desires power in all the ways that means, and the Weaver, whose Class makes it makes sense, involve themselves in politics. Part of the issue with people getting all the way to Legendary Class is that they have to be a lot of stubborn and even more individualistic. After all, at a certain point, you just have to keep going when all your peers fall behind you.

  The call of friendship, of resting a bit and letting yourself just be, because the rest of your friends, your family, your lovers are there—it’s powerful.

  “The Emperor,” I say finally.

  “He’s the weak one, isn’t he?” Mikito says.

  “For variations of weak, sure. He doesn’t have his Empire anymore, so a chunk of his Class Skills don't work. But he does have this…”

  I pull on the System, drawing forth a Class Skill. The only reason I know about it is because of the way the damn Emperor’s Class Skill affects us all and thus, made its appearance in my System Administrator board.

  Class Skill: A Towering Reputation (Legendary)

  What use is Skill in combat or knowledge and wisdom to rival the gods if none know of it? What shield is there to an Empire if all scoff at the Emperor who sits upon it? And what power can an Emperor, both feared and loved, hated and dreaded, bring to his Empire? This is a passive Skill. Mana Regeneration reduced by 5 permanently.

  Effect: Emperor gains a boost to Class Skills, attributes, health, and regeneration based off reputation.

  “And?” Mikito says after she finishes reading it.

  “It’s Galactic Reputation,” I say. “I could show you the math behind it, but let’s just say that the fact that the Emperor is as well-known as he is, including having numerous plays, books, sensory, immersive, and other shows made about him, boosts his Reputation quite, quite well.”

  “You’re saying he’s getting a boost from all over the Galaxy,” Mikito says.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s broken.”

  “It’s a Legendary Skill,” I say and shrug. “It’s not as powerful as having his own Empire, but because he isn’t ruling anyone, he’s also not getting any major negative modifiers.” Mikito frowns, and I nod. “Yeah, I think he was informed about the actual equation involved, then gamed it.”

  “Then the stories…” she whispers the words in dawning horror.

  “Wiped out his own Empire, yup.” I nod. “Or let it fall.” I shrug. “One or the other, but I’d bet that’s what he chose to do. More personal power this way, from this Skill, without having to worry about running the Empire or getting into major conflicts with other kingdoms. He can even sponsor Guilds himself.”

  “Then he’s not that weak,” Mikito says.

  “As I said, by definitions of weak, he probably is.” I sigh. “Like, the Dragon could probably kick his ass in a one-on-one fight. Don’t you remember the reports of the Emperor losing in the first altercation?” I shrug. “But then again, it’s the Dragon. Not many can stand against him directly.”

  “Still, not weak.”

  I nod.

  Mikito grows silent, and our discussion hangs heavily over us for a time. Eventually, she sips the remainder of her tea and nods, as if coming to an internal conclusion. She stands, bowing to me a little. “Then I guess we’ll just have to plan for a way to neutralize them.”

  I pause, surprised at the confidence she shows.

  When she sees my look, Mikito smiles at me serenely. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

  I can’t help but nod, taking her optimism at face value. Choosing not to think of it as potential fatalism. There’s something else I have to ask too.

  “Ezz?”

  Mikito glances around, decides it’s safe, and holds her hand out to the side. Ezz’s familiar red form appears, though he’s gone from having a humanoid form with two arms and two legs to doubling each, a body more similar to a vertical centipede than human. The same red coloring is still there though, as are the human-looking eyes.

  “What…”
I stare at the silent creature. “What happened?”

  “We had to shut him down to capture him,” Mikito says. She turns the body a little, showing me the blinking gunmetal half-sphere lodged in Ezz’s back. “It’s shut down all his current processes. But, John…”

  “Yeah?” I don’t look at her as I regard Ezz.

  “John.” Firmer now.

  “Yes?” I look up.

  “He’s compromised. You can’t turn him on, not unless you’re sure you can fix him.”

  I work my jaw for a second, anger rushing upward as she tells me what to do. My fist clenches and I want to scream at her, my most trusted friend. I almost rise up out of my chair, but her silent, calm regard is a pail of cold water on my anger.

  Anger that isn’t meant for her anyway.

  After all, she isn’t the one who failed Juover and Ezz.

  “I get it,” I say softly.

  She waits for a beat, regarding me before she nods and turns away.

  Leaving me to contemplate the still machine. Golem. Friend. Son?

  ***

  Luck? Or planning? Either way, a coding tablet was in the inventory pieces left for me. I’d wondered about its inclusion and just dumped it into my rather empty storage. Now, sticking the leads into the liquid metal slots of Ezz, giving myself access to his code, I find myself making use of it. And letting out little mental whimpers.

  Unlike what every single bad movie in the old world shows you, programming is not as simple as waving your hands around, typing away for twenty minutes while slamming energy drinks to metal music. In fact, one of the first problems you’ll encounter is the simple fact that not all of us have permissions to access the core code.

  Breaking security often requires specialized tools, or even better, knowledge of the kind of laziness the individual who slipped the security measures into place prefers. Because, trust me, the vast majority of security precautions are scuppered by sheer laziness.

  That’s the good news.

  The bad news? I have neither the tools nor the knowledge of who wiped and reprogrammed Ezz. I don’t even have a clue about the programming language used. When I was creating Ezz and modifying the other golems, I wasn’t doing actual coding of the languages that ran them. That was all Juover. Since he’d replicated his own code, the assumption was that it wasn’t the electronic code within them that was the problem. Other articles had tested multiple versions of code over thousands, tens of thousands, of years. None of those worked. So I hadn’t bothered to even try.