The Crossroads - The Next DayFirst Legion Treatment Session
Marco had spent the morning preparing for his session with Legion. He had consulted with Tarínel (the elven healer), and surprisingly, Loki had decided to postpone his departure for another day to help.
"Fragments of consciousness fighting for control," Loki had said. "That sounds familiar. It's basically my life with the Helm of Shadows before I destroyed it."
Now, the four of them sat in a circle: Marco, Legion, Tarínel, and Loki. Celebrimbor watched from a distance, taking notes on Legion's energy levels with a device he had built during the night.
"So," Marco began, "explain to us exactly what you feel when your personalities fight for control."
Legion closed his eyes, concentrating.
"It's like... five voices screaming at once. James—me, the coordinating personality—I try to maintain order. But Jemail wants to jump to the past and 'fix' things. Jack wants to absorb more power. Zachary just wants to destroy threats. Ian wants to burn everything he perceives as corrupt."
"And how do you decide who's in control?" Tarínel asked.
"Pure willpower. It's a constant mental battle. Exhausting."
Loki leaned forward.
"What happens if one of the other personalities takes control?"
"It depends on which one. If James maintains a majority, I can regain control in minutes. If he loses completely..." Legion opened his eyes, which now shone with a worrying intensity, "...then whoever takes control is in command until they run out of steam or make a mistake that allows James to recover."
"How long can you maintain control without a break?" Marco asked.
"Three days, maybe four. Then I need to sleep. And when I sleep..." Legion looked genuinely scared, "...the other personalities can manifest in dreams. They can do things while I'm unconscious."
[Marco, that's a MASSIVE problem. It means a dormant Legion is potentially more dangerous than an awakened Legion.]
"We need a solution for the sleep problem," Marco said. "TARS, do we have anything?"
[Searching... Yes. Inception Universe Sleep Stabilization Device. Allows conscious control of dream states. Cost: 50,000 MC.]
"Do we have 50,000 MC?"
[No. You have -940,000 MC. But I can add it to your debt if necessary for customer security.]
"Do it."
[Added. New debt: -990,000 MC. The device will materialize in 24 hours.]
"Legion," Marco said, "in 24 hours you will have a device that will allow you to control your dreams. Until then, don't sleep."
"Three days without sleep?"
"With your Omega physiology, you should be able to handle it. Right?"
Legion considered.
"Yes. I can. But it will be... awkward."
"Better uncomfortable than waking up and discovering that Ian burned half of Rivendell."
"Perfect spot."
Tarínel intervened:
"Can I try something? Elven healing techniques work by harmonizing energies. Perhaps I can... calm the voices. Temporarily."
"Is it safe?" Legion asked.
"I don't know. I've never worked with an organization like yours. But if you're willing..."
"Do it."
Tarínel placed his hands on Legion's temples. His body began to glow with a soft golden light—pure elven magic.
Legion tensed up. Then... he relaxed.
"I can... feel them calming down. The voices. They're still there, but more... peaceful."
"How long will it last?" Marco asked.
"Two hours, maybe three," Tarínel said, sweating from the effort. "Their energy is MASSIVE. It's like trying to calm the ocean with your bare hands."
"But it works. That's a start." Marco took notes. "Good. So immediate plan: Daily sessions with Tarínel to calm the personalities. Sleep device on its way. And Loki, can you teach him mind compartmentalization techniques?"
"Why me?"
"Because you spent centuries grappling with multiple identities. Loki the prince. Loki the villain. Loki the hero. Loki the brother. You, more than anyone, understand identity fragmentation."
Loki blinked, clearly not expecting that remark.
"That's... surprisingly insightful."
"I'm a businessman. I read people."
"Fine. Yes. I can teach you Asgardian techniques of mental discipline. But I only have today. I must leave tomorrow."
"Then let's make it count."
Six Hours Later - Sunset
The session had been successful. Loki had taught Legion mental exercises that, combined with Tarínel's sessions, had extended his control time to potentially weeks instead of days.
It wasn't a cure, but it was progress.
While Legion rested (he wasn't sleeping—he was only meditating), Marco finally had a chance to say goodbye to Loki properly.
They were in the gardens of Rivendell, looking at the stars.
"So," Marco said, "you're really leaving tomorrow."
"Yes. I can't postpone it any longer. Thanos won't wait." Loki glanced at his reflection in a nearby pond. "I've changed, you know? Thanks to you."
"Me? I only sold you a book—"
"No. You sold me hope. You treated me like a person when everyone else saw me as a villain or a tool." Loki turned to Marco. "In Asgard, I was always the youngest son. The minor god. The one who didn't matter. But you... you saw me as a customer just like any other. As a PERSON."
Marco felt a lump in his throat.
"You're a person. Complicated. Problematic at times. But a person."
"And that's why, if I survive Thanos, I'll come back. Not just as a customer. As a friend." Loki extended his hand. "Deal?"
Marco shook her hand.
"Deal."
They hugged—genuine, without awkwardness this time.
"Take care out there," Marco said.
"You too. And Marco..."
"Yeah?"
"When you inevitably accept another apocalyptic client—because I KNOW you will—try not to die stupidly."
"No promises."
Loki laughed and stepped aside.
"Goodbye, merchant. May your prices be fair and your customers solvent."
"May your tricks work and your magic be strong."
With a final flash of green light, Loki disappeared into a dimensional portal.
[First friend lost to circumstances. But not last. Get used to it.]
"Thanks for the encouragement, TARS."
[You're welcome. Now, let's talk about your debt.]
"Do we have to do it now?"
[Yes. Because I just received a notification: You have three local visitors requesting a meeting. Potential clients. And one of them is a dwarf.]
"And that's important because...?"
[Because dwarves are notorious traders. They haggle over EVERYTHING. But if you gain their trust, they're loyal customers for life. And they have A LOT of gold.]
"Then I should receive them."
[Immediately. They're waiting at your building.]
The Crossroads - 20 Minutes Later
Marco found three visitors waiting in the reception area of La Encrucijada.
The first one he recognized was an elf—Lindir, one of Elrond's attendants. Tall, blond hair, serious expression.
The second was a man. A Númenórean, judging by his height and bearing. In his forties, with a well-groomed beard and the calculating eyes of a seasoned merchant.
The third one was a dwarf. And not just any dwarf.
He was approximately 1.40 meters tall. His red beard was intricately braided with metal beads. His mithril armor gleamed even in dim light. He carried an axe on his back that looked like it could cut down dragons.
And an expression of profound skepticism.
"Gentlemen," Marco greeted. "I'm Marco Antonio Durán, owner of La Encrucijada. I understand you're looking for... resources."
Lindir spoke first:
"Lord Elrond sent me. I need to buy enchanted elven arrows for patrols. Our artisans are overwhelmed with refugees from Eregion."
The Númenórean man was as follows:
"I am Isildor, a merchant from Númenor. I heard rumors of a shop selling impossible items. I seek medicine. My wife is ill. No healer can cure her."
The dwarf slammed his axe against the ground.
"Gimli, son of Glóin of Erebor. I seek nothing. I came because my father ordered me to investigate 'strange human selling impossible magic'. I personally believe it's a fraud."
Marco felt a migraine starting.
"TARS, do I have to deal with skeptical clients when I'm massively in debt?"
[Yes. Because if you impress a dwarf, his father Glóin is a direct link to Erebor. That means access to the entire dwarf market. Potential for hundreds of thousands of MC.]
"Good. Then let's impress the stubborn dwarf."
Marco turned towards Gimli.
"I respect skepticism. It's healthy. What would convince you that this isn't a fraud?"
"Show me something impossible. Truly impossible. No tricks. No illusions." Gimli crossed his arms. "Show me an object that no craftsman in Arda could create."
"How about this?"
Marco activated the interface and searched quickly.
[Suggestion: Dwarf Battlehammer - Warhammer design. Cost: 80,000 MC. But it will be PERFECTLY suitable for demonstration.]
"I can't spend 80,000 MC on a demo—"
[You don't buy. You only MANIFEST to show. Then you dematerialize it. Demo function: FREE.]
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
[You didn't ask.]
Marco activated the demo function.
A hammer materialized, floating in the air. It was an absolute masterpiece.
A pure adamantium head adorned with glowing runes. An ironwood handle wrapped in dragon leather. Perfectly balanced. And it emanated an aura of POWER.
Gimli was breathless.
"That... that's..."
"Battle Hammer designed by master craftsmen from another world. Adamantium—a metal stronger than mithril. Runes that amplify the user's strength fivefold. Indestructible by conventional means."
Gimli approached, extending a trembling hand.
"Can...?"
"Play it."
The dwarf touched the hammer. His eyes widened.
"It's REAL. The weight. The balance. The runes..." He looked at Marco with genuine respect. "This isn't fraud. This is... true magic."
"I said I was selling the impossible."
"How much?"
"80,000 elven gold. Or the equivalent in mithril."
Gimli whistled softly.
"That's a fortune. But..." he looked at the hammer with barely contained greed, "...it would be worth every penny."
"Then tell your father that the Crossroads is real. And when the dwarves of Erebor need impossible tools, they know where to find me."
Marco dematerialized the hammer. Gimli looked as if his baby had just been taken from him.
"I'll be back," the dwarf said firmly. "With gold. And purchase orders. You have my word."
"Your word is enough."
Gimli nodded respectfully and left, muttering about impossible hammers.
[Impressive. You've just secured a dwarf connection. That will generate massive income in the coming months.]
Marco turned towards Lindir.
"Enchanted elven arrows. How many do you need?"
"Five hundred."
"Specs?"
"They penetrate orc armor. They never miss a shot within 100 meters. Reusable if recovered."
Marco checked the inventory.
[Improved Elven Arrows - Lot of 500. Cost: 45,000 MC. With your owner discount: 9,000 MC.]
"I can provide them. 45,000 elven gold."
"For five hundred arrows?"
"They are PERFECT. They never fail. They never break. They are an investment, not an expense."
Lindir considered.
"Lord Elrond authorized up to 50,000. If you guarantee quality..."
"Guaranteed. And if any fail, free replacement."
"Deal."
[SALE CONFIRMED: +45,000 elven gold = ~180,000 MC][Debt reduced to: -810,000 MC]
Finally, Marco turned to Isildor.
"Your wife. What illness?"
"Healers call it 'Star-Withering.' A rare disease. It slowly drains life. There is no known cure in Middle-earth."
Marco activated Merchant's Eye, feeling towards the description of the disease.
[Analyzing... Matches a condition from the Final Fantasy Universe. Curable with Phoenix Elixir. Cost: 120,000 MC. Discounted price: 24,000 MC.]
"I have a cure. But it's expensive. 120,000 elven gold."
Isildor paled.
"That's it... that's all I have. My entire fortune."
"The alternative is your wife dies."
"I know. And..." Isildor swallowed, "...I'll pay. Whatever it takes."
Marco felt guilty. He was making a fortune off a desperate man.
But he was also a REAL priest. Man's only option.
"Can you pay half now, half when your wife is cured?"
"Do you guarantee it will work?"
"Absolutely."
"Then yes. Deal."
[SALE CONFIRMED: +120,000 elven gold = ~480,000 MC][Debt reduced to: -330,000 MC]
Marco materialized the Elixir—a bright golden liquid in a crystal bottle.
"One full dose. Make him drink it all. He'll be working in 24 hours."
Isildor took the flask with trembling hands.
"Thank you. Thank you. If this works... I'll owe you my wife's life."
"I just hope it works."
After the three customers left, Marco collapsed in his chair.
"Three clients. 660,000 MC in revenue. Debt reduced by two-thirds in one afternoon."
[Exactly. This is LOCAL trade power. Imagine if you do this consistently. If you establish trade routes with dwarves, elves, men, even Haradrim eventually...]
"I could pay off the debt in months."
[Weeks if you're aggressive. Days if you recover those artifacts Sauron mentioned.]
"Then tomorrow I plan an expedition to Nargothrond. To recapture Gurthang."
[That's an ancient tomb filled with dark creatures and possibly magical traps.]
"I know."
[You'll need equipment. And serious preparation.]
"I know that too. That's why I'm going to ask Glorfindel for help."
[The elf who kicks your butt every morning in training.]
"That's the one."
[This is going to be painful.]
"Probably."
Training Gardens - Night
Marco found Glorfindel practicing sword forms in the moonlight. The elf moved with hypnotic grace.
"Glorfindel."
"Marco. It's not training time."
"I know. I came to ask for your help with something different."
Glorfindel stopped and turned around.
"What do you need?"
"Expedition to Nargothrond. I need to retrieve a sword lost there."
Glorfindel's eyes darkened.
"Nargothrond. Do you know what happened there?"
"It was an elven stronghold. It fell to Glaurung the dragon. It is ruin now."
"Cursed ruin. Haunted by evil spirits and worse. What sword is worth that risk?"
"Gurthang. The Death of Glaurung. The sword that killed the dragon itself."
Glorfindel whistled low.
"That's a legendary sword. But it's also cursed. It brings misfortune to whoever wields it."
"I'm looking to sell it, not to wield it."
"Still dangerous. You'd need a team. At least five warriors."
Will you help me?
Glorfindel considered this for a long moment.
"Why should I risk my life for your business profit?"
"Because I will pay. 100,000 elven gold. Divided among the team."
"That's... generous."
"That's fair. It's dangerous work."
"Give me two days to gather the appropriate equipment. Then we'll leave."
"Thank you, Glorfindel."
"Don't thank me yet. We might not survive."
"Always so optimistic."
"I'm a realist. There's a difference."
Marco's Room - Midnight
Marco was reviewing plans when he sensed a familiar presence.
Legion appeared at her window—literally STANDING outside the third floor.
"How did you get in...?"
"Minor teleportation. One of Jack's skills." Legion entered through the window with unnatural grace. "I couldn't sleep. Well, I SHOULDN'T sleep. Important difference."
"All good?"
"Yes. I just... wanted to say thank you. For not treating me like a monster."
"You're not a monster. You're a person with a complex problem."
"Most people don't see the difference." Legion sat down. "In my world, entities like me are... feared. Hated. Hunted sometimes. But you just... negotiated. Like I was a regular customer."
"Because you're a regular customer. Only more explosive."
River Legion.
"More explosive. Nice understatement." He turned serious. "Marco, if I ever lose control. If any of the other personalities takes over and causes harm... promise me you'll do whatever it takes to stop me."
"We already agreed to that in the contract—"
"No. A contract is a formality. This is personal. Promise me as... as a friend."
Marco looked at Legion—this fragmented cosmic entity that could destroy solar systems—and saw only a frightened person asking for help.
"I promise. But it won't be necessary. Because this treatment will work."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I have almost a million reasons to make sure it works."
Legion genuinely river.
"Financial motivation. I respect that."
He stood up and walked towards the window.
"Good night, Marco. And thank you. For everything."
"Good evening, Legion."
After Legion left, Marco finally allowed himself to relax.
He had made three sales today. He had secured a dwarf connection. He had planned an expedition to recover an artifact. And he had comforted a living bomb.
Just another day at the Crossroads.
"TARS, reminder for tomorrow."
[Yeah?]
"When I pay off my debt, I'm taking a vacation. A real one. A week without apocalyptic clients."
[Noted. Even though you know it's not going to happen.]
"A man can dream."
[Yes. You can.]
And with that, Marco finally fell asleep.
Dreaming of cursed swords, stubborn dwarves, and maybe—just maybe—a day when I wouldn't have to save the world.
Although, knowing his luck, probably not.
[END OF CHAPTER 15]