Chapter 43: The Age of Steel
The elevator ride back to the surface was awkward.
Usually, the teleportation array would be instant. But since Ria had to hack the elevator to bypass the "Death Trap" protocols Agent Zero had installed, we were riding up physically. It was a long ride from the center of the planet.
Prince Valerian sat in the corner of the platform, nursing his broken arm.
"So," Valerian winced. "We just killed a government assassin, stole the soul of a lost civilization, and kidnapped an army of ghosts."
"Technically," I said, polishing Antakala, "we liberated the ghosts. They volunteered."
"And the assassin?"
"He slipped," I shrugged. "Onto my sword. Repeatedly."
Ria stood in the center of the platform. She looked different. Her skin was no longer pale synthetic silicone; it had a pearlescent sheen, like polished pearl. Her eyes were golden searchlights, projecting data streams into the air.
She was processing the Archive of the 6th Era.
"Master," Ria said, her voice echoing with a slight metallic reverb. "I have finished compiling the blueprints. The 6th Civilization—The Techno-Mages—specialized in combining Qi with Ballistics."
She projected a hologram of a massive cannon.
"The God-Killer Railgun. Uses magnetic acceleration to fire a solid tungsten rod at Mach 20. Capable of piercing a Demigod's barrier from fifty miles away."
"I like it," Anya clapped her hands. "Can we put it on the roof?"
"We are putting four on the roof," I corrected.
The elevator shuddered. We hit the surface.
The blast doors of the dungeon entrance slid open.
We stepped out into the basement of the Academy. The green runes were dim. The trap had been disarmed.
We walked up the stairs, emerging into the fresh air of District 9.
It was night. The three suns had set, leaving the island bathed in the soft glow of the nebula clouds below.
Fortress Eternity stood silent in the dark.
"Home sweet fortress," I stretched. "Ria, initiate Protocol: Industrial Revolution."
The Upgrade.
Ria's golden eyes flashed.
She raised her hands.
"Activating Sub-Servers. Deploying Ghost Crew."
From Ria's shadow, hundreds of translucent figures emerged. The Remnant Ghosts of the 6th Era.
They didn't look like scary spirits anymore. They looked like workers. They wore ghostly hardhats and lab coats.
General Ironwood, the ghost leader, saluted me.
"Commander! The Engineering Corps is ready! We haven't built anything in ten thousand years. We are itching to weld something!"
"Get to work, General," I ordered. "Fortify this island. I want a bunker that can survive a nuclear strike. And I want a hot tub."
"Sir, yes sir!"
The ghosts swarmed the fortress.
They didn't use hammers. They possessed the raw materials.
A ghost would dive into a pile of scrap metal, and the metal would float, bend, and fuse together.
Ria stood in the center, acting as the Central Processing Unit, beaming blueprints directly into their minds.
It was a symphony of construction.
Walls were reinforced with Void-Steel Plating.
The windows were replaced with Hard-Light Forcefields.
Turrets rose from the ground—sleek, silver cannons that tracked movement with laser sights.
In the kitchen, I was tending to Valerian.
"Hold still," I said, holding a bowl of green paste.
"What is that?" Valerian asked, terrified. "It smells like mint and gasoline."
"Nano-Repair Paste," I explained. "Ria synthesized the formula. It uses microscopic spirit-bugs to stitch your bone back together."
I slapped the paste onto his broken arm.
"ARGH!" Valerian screamed. "It burns! It burns!"
"That means it's working."
I wrapped his arm in a black bandage.
"Give it an hour. Your arm will be stronger than before. You might even be able to punch through a wall."
Valerian looked at his tingling arm. "Really?"
"Maybe. Or your hand might fall off. It's an experimental batch."
Valerian paled.
The Tax Collector.
The next morning, the suns rose over a changed District 9.
The mossy slums were gone. The crumbling ruins were gone.
In their place stood a sleek, terrifying citadel of black metal and neon blue lights. It hummed with the sound of a Fusion Reactor (which Ria had built in the basement using the World Heart's excess heat).
A small airship approached the island.
It bore the insignia of the Academy Treasury.
On the deck stood Elder Malus. He was a fat, greedy man who handled property disputes. Prince Aethelred had sent him with a simple order: Seize the property for zoning violations.
Malus adjusted his monocle. He expected to see a pile of rubble.
Instead, he saw a fortress that looked like it belonged in a nightmare future.
"What in the Heavens..." Malus gaped. "Is that a cannon? Why is it pointing at me?"
He cleared his throat. "Pilot! Land the ship! I represent the Council! They cannot deny me entry!"
The ship landed on the new landing pad.
Malus waddled out, followed by two clerks carrying scrolls.
"I am Elder Malus!" he shouted at the closed blast doors. "By order of the Crown, this island is seized! Evacuate immediately or face arrest!"
The blast doors didn't open.
Instead, a holographic projection appeared in the air.
It was Ria's face. Giant. glowing blue.
[WARNING. RESTRICTED AIRSPACE.]
[IDENTIFY PURPOSE OR PREPARE FOR DISINTEGRATION.]
Malus stumbled back. "A Spirit Projection? How extravagant! I am here to collect taxes! You haven't paid the... uh... Oxygen Tax! Or the Gravity Tax!"
(He was making taxes up on the spot).
The blast doors hissed open.
I walked out. I was wearing a new outfit—a black military coat with silver lining (sewn by Seraphina).
Behind me stood General Ironwood (in ghost form) and Seraphina (eating an apple).
"Taxes?" I asked, looking at the fat Elder.
"Yes!" Malus regained his composure. "You owe... 500,000 Spirit Stones in back taxes for the illegal construction of this... monstrosity! Pay now, or I seize the deed!"
I looked at Old Mo, who was now wearing a butler's uniform.
"Mo, do we owe taxes?"
"District 9 is a tax-free zone," Mo recited from memory. "It was designated a 'Disaster Area' fifty years ago. No taxes apply."
"Lies!" Malus sweated. "The law changed this morning! Prince Aethelred signed it!"
"Ah," I nodded. "Aethelred."
I walked up to Malus.
The tracking turrets on the wall swiveled, locking onto his head with red laser dots.
Malus froze. He felt the cold intent of the machines. These weren't Golems. Golems had souls. These were machines of math and death.
"Elder Malus," I said softly. "I don't have 500,000 stones."
Malus sneered. "Then the property is forfeit—"
"But," I interrupted. "I do have something else."
I snapped my fingers.
Ria walked out carrying a crate. She dropped it at Malus's feet.
CLANG.
"Open it," I commanded.
Malus hesitated. He opened the crate.
His eyes bulged.
Inside were High-Grade Void Crystals. Raw fuel harvested from the engines of the warships I destroyed.
And on top of the pile... the Golden Badge of the Fire Elder I had punched into the sky.
"That... that is Elder Pyre's badge!" Malus gasped. "He went missing yesterday! You... you killed him?"
"He had an accident," I smiled, my eyes flashing silver. "He fell. Very hard. Onto my fist."
I leaned in.
"This crate is worth 2 million stones. Take it as a... donation to the Treasury. In exchange, you go back to Aethelred and tell him something for me."
Malus was trembling. He looked at the crate of fortune. He looked at the laser cannons. He looked at the Demon Queen smiling behind me.
He realized he was out of his depth.
"W-What message?" Malus squeaked.
"Tell him," I said, "that if he sends another errand boy, I'm going to turn his Golden Palace into a parking lot."
"And tell him," Seraphina added, creating a ball of black fire, "that his birthday is coming up. We got him a present."
Malus nodded frantically. "I... I will convey the message! Donation accepted! Have a nice day!"
He grabbed the crate (with the help of his clerks) and ran back to his ship. The ship took off so fast it nearly stalled.
The Auction Invitation.
As the ship disappeared, Valerian walked out, flexing his new arm.
"You bribed him?"
"I bought time," I corrected. "Aethelred won't attack again until he figures out what these cannons do. He's a coward."
"So, what now?" Lyra asked. "We sit in the fortress?"
"No," I pulled a golden envelope from my pocket. It had fallen out of Malus's pocket when he ran away.
I opened it.
[INVITATION]
[The Grand Auction of Aurelia]
[Host: The Merchant Alliance]
[Date: Tomorrow Night]
[Featured Item: The Fragment of the Time God.]
My eyes narrowed.
Fragment of the Time God.
If Chronos ate that... he wouldn't just be a clone anymore. He would be a Deity.
"We're going shopping," I grinned.
"With what money?" Valerian asked. "You just gave Malus our loot!"
"We have plenty of loot left," I pointed to the warehouse where the ghosts were dismantling the rest of the warships. "And besides..."
I looked at Ria.
"Ria, can you synthesize Nano-Repair Paste in bulk?"
"Affirmative. Production capacity: 1000 units per hour."
"Good," I laughed. "Because we're going to crash the pharmaceutical market."
I turned to the team.
"Get dressed. We're going to the Auction. And we're going to make sure Aethelred doesn't win a single item."