The Gamer Chapter 1598 – The Struggle against Entropy (Patreon)

Milan was an interesting city.

John had heard about and seen several of the cities of Abyssal Europe. Italy and Germany especially, but the rest of Europe as well, were centred around places of Romulus’ designs. Vast structures, be they ones of immense buildings or a series of carefully planned out landscapes, that the Apex had designed and overseen the construction of.

The spire city of Prague. The rings of the Eternal City. Alexandria’s seven great dams. The swimming districts of Venice. The great grid of Berlin. The marble expanse of Barcelona. The great, living corridors of Lissabon. A short list of the great cities of Europe, ignoring others such as Madrid, Paris, Aachen and Amsterdam.

Milan ranked highly among them. Of the cities of the Greater Empire located in Italy, it was the second largest. What made it so interesting was that it was barely influenced by Romulus’ touch.

The Apex had his hand here and there. John spotted it, sitting atop a hill that oversaw the rest of the city. Lanterns lit up the streets of the vast city. It was every bit as large as the Hudson Barrier, except with enough people to fill it with the moderate amount of motion busy Abyssal cities could reach. 168’000 people called Milan their home. A number simultaneously immense and tiny for the space they had.

In the Roman university and the layout of the central streets, John recognized Romulus’ handiwork. The Apex was a master of many architectural styles, arguably had been the father of many of them, but John could spot certain elements that the man tended to favour. The beige of Roman plaster and cement, the rounded arches, the mosaics on public plazas and the transition between gentle curves into hard angles.

Beyond the reaches of the campus and the streets, Milan spread out in a fascinating mixture of neighbouring estates. The city was younger than Rome in appearance, a fact that only meant it was of a newer flavour of old. Walls of smooth Alpine rock separated the mansions from each other – most of the time.

Some neighbours had decided to leave their properties open to each other, creating something of a public park or a vast, private green area between otherwise gated areas.

No one in Milan lived poorly by demand. The city boundaries had a ten kilometre radius, creating vastly more space than people needed. Abyssal building practices and the age of the city then further combined to have absolutely plastered the area in opulent mansions that even the poorest member of the city could live in.

Most properties were carefully tended to. Large lawns, decorative lakes, the occasional tree for shade or fresh fruit. A couple of properties belonging to those that may not have been poor in living condition but were of the mindset that bred poverty. Their houses were surrounded by trash, their gardens untended, their windows uncleaned and their walls painted in dirt and rainwater. In that sense, it was a regular city.

The boundaries of properties were without rhyme or reason. If there ever had been an orderly grid, centuries of changing hands, negotiations and renegotiations had eroded it to the point that even John’s erudite mind couldn’t see it.

The only place where that was false were the main roads. Lined with tall houses, rather than bordered by walls, those streets housed the bustling economy of Milan. The city was one of the two main nodes where the Sons of Rome traded with the Illuminati. The two guilds were unfriendly towards each other, but merchants of all nations typically cared more about getting rich than working according to the will of the political body, be that the rulers or the population.

For that reason, Abyssal Milan was perhaps the least Roman city of the Sons of Rome. Neither did it feel particularly Italian. ‘Abyssal Italy has the weirdest disconnect with real space anyway,’ John thought and sipped on his coffee. ‘Just what happens when Rome never falls.’

“Is this how you treat all of your dates?” Ehtra asked.

The First of Hatred sat opposite him at the small round table, situated on the veranda of a lovely, small coffeehouse. The establishment was wealthy, absurdly so, because it catered to absurdly wealthy people. The hill it sat on top of was entirely artificial and the singular road that led up to it overseen by two very strict men that made sure no one with less than a hundred Tokens in their pocket got anywhere close to the coffeehouse.

“Is this a date now?” John asked, shooting a little smile over the rim of his cup.

The grey angel sneered. Her wings shuffled. Fingertips drummed on the wooden tabletop. “You know what I asked for.”

“I don’t actually know,” John emphasized the last word. “I suspect. You’re making me guess.”

Ehtra rolled her eyes. Her wings trembled. She played with the pommel of her sword. The weapon had spontaneously manifested at some point, John wasn’t sure when. It was part of her very being, he knew that much, so he couldn’t say he was surprised she could conjure it from the proverbial aether.

The guards didn’t care about her having it. A drawn weapon in the Abyss was still a sign of disrespect, but much lessened when the beings themselves were the weapons. “Are you that terrible at reading people?”

“Obviously not, if I got it right. I’m just pointing out that you’re making this harder than it has to be.” He finished his coffee. After the cup was back on the table, he folded his hands and faced her in all seriousness. “This is just an excuse to be away from Metra anyway, ri-“

“Stop – reading – me – creature,” Ehtra interrupted him, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re more frustrating to deal with than a hundred paranoid tyrants.”

“For what it’s worth, I promise you that I only did that one reading of your character sheet. The rest is my intuition,” John told her, remaining serious in his body language. “Was I right or not?”

Ehtra sent him a venomous glare that spelled out the words, ‘Yes, but…’ She took a few moments of groaning and loathing face-rubbing before answering. “If I asked you for a mission, you’d just give me another one of your stupid ‘your autonomy is yours’ speeches,” she stated.

“That’s because you’re asking me what you have to do, not for my opinion on what you probably should do,” John told her. “I’m more than happy to tell you the latter.”

“But I don’t care about the latter,” Ehtra growled. “I’m Metracana, the Lady Vengeance of Akkad, bringer of judgement, assurer of discipline, vessel of Tiamat’s wi-…” The heated response petered out.

The lost woman sighed. Her wings sank. She folded her hands on the table.

“Look, if you’re not ready yet to face, in full, what has happened to you, then I can provide you with all the distractions in the world.” John made a sweeping gesture in the direction of the golden lights of the city below. “I command the wealth of a nation and the authority of a fully realized Latebloomer. The modern world has more luxuries than the ancients could have ever dreamt of. I can drown you in distractions, if that is what you need.”

“Is that what I have come to?” Ehtra mumbled to herself. “A traumatized girl in need of distraction?”

“It’s been six days,” John told her. “There is shame in never confronting one’s demons, but six days is a far shot from never.”

“I am First of Hatred, fifth of the Metracanas.” Ehtra closed her eyes. She raised a hand. One of the waiters stepped up to them. “Pay.”

John raised an eyebrow, but did as requested. The waiter took the metal coins with sparkling eyes. Tokens were the preferred currency of this part of the world as well. People just preferred exchanging small bits of hard cash over stacks of printed paper or moving numbers between bank accounts. The problem was that not enough coins were in circulation yet.

No sooner had the transaction finished, than Ehtra grabbed him by the collar. One beat of her grey wings, and they rose sharply into the sky. It was John’s turn to growl, dangling from her hand like some kind of unruly kitten.

It wasn’t the kind of treatment he accepted.

Ehtra turned her gaze to him when he pried her grip open. Her Strength was vastly superior to his, but even she couldn’t prevent him from moving her thumb. The Gamer dropped fifty metres and aligned his feet with the ground. Down below, people pointed up and hurried out of the way. They cleared a spot for him to land in the middle of the road.

John activated Magus Step and instead hit the top of one of the walls. The force of the impact rushed up his legs. Teleportation just put him somewhere else, it did not eliminate momentum. The damage of that kind of fall was, however, negligible to him. He barely even crouched because of it. Folding his hands behind his back, he stared up at Ehtra.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned her, when she hovered down to him.

His hard tone was met by a plain face. A positive sign, as far as John was concerned. Anything met with something better than a scowl was to be taken positively when it came to Lady Vengeance. “I really don’t understand you,” Ehtra stated. “You can be so kind and patient and turn on a dime when something displeases you.”

“It’s because a man that can’t be dangerous is no man at all,” the Gamer told her and began walking along the wall, “and a man that is only dangerous is just a beast.”

“Don’t you spit common phrases in my face,” Ehtra hissed.

“Then don’t be surprised that I embody them.”

“You do, but… not in a way that I am used to,” the First of Hatred begrudgingly surrendered the point, hovering beside him. The people on the street down below barely even acknowledged that they were there. At the very same time, a pair of locals were throwing golden laser beams at each other in the sky. Living in an Abyssal city was interesting.

They moved in silence for a full minute.

“It has been six days…” Ehtra suggested in a tone too nudging to be contemplative.

“I’m not making a proper move on you,” John told her. Her insistence on the span of days was born from the promise he had made to Momo – for five days he wouldn’t make a move on Ehtra. The letter of the law had been kept. John would have been fine with breaking with the spirit of it, under other circumstances. “I’m not among the distractions I offer you.”

“Like you’re above making women obsessed with you,” Ehtra sneered at him. “I’ve seen that vampire prance around, wrapped in loyalty like a blanket smothering her mind.”

“Claire is a different kind of woman than you are,” John stated plainly. He hopped across a small divide between two walls. “You’re distracting yourself now. Again, there is nothing wrong with it if you’re not rea-“

“I am ready,” Ehtra interrupted him harshly. “I can’t be not ready. I am Metracana.”

John stopped where he was. “Being what you are doesn’t mean you’re equipped for the betrayal of your mother. I don’t think anyone is ever prepared for that.”

The First of Hatred grit her teeth, once again intensely enough that the gnashing caused a screeching sound. “I will flay the fat off her heart.” She took a deep breath and asked the question before John could, “But what until then? What afterwards?”

“Do you want me to reiterate my advice?”

“I want answers.”

“Then make them,” John told her bluntly.

He left the stunned Metracana up in the air, himself jumping down into a dark alleyway. The sound of Italian and French echoed faintly from distant shops. Even the light of lanterns barely touched the concrete here. A couple of trash cans sat outside one of the poorly kept properties. A duo of rats scattered off when Ehtra harshly landed next to John.

Halfway through the motion of grabbing him by the collar, she stopped. “I am a tool of kings,” the First of Hatred hissed. “I am the eyes that spy every treacherous intent and the blade that brings vengeance. I do not make answers!”

“You can break our contract,” John offered. The suggestion caught Ehtra fully off guard. “I’m not keeping you. I can transfer you to Romulus or another sovereign that might have clear orders for you. I’ll ensure they’ll have you sent to my side when it comes time to fight Tiamat.”

“You would… oust me… after granting me this?!” The First of Hatred almost shouted, her wings spreading as far as the alleyway allowed. “You have elevated me from a weapon of battle to a true angel of war and you would just give me away?! Are you fucking retarded?!”

John grabbed her still raised hand and pulled her towards him, until their faces were barely a finger’s width apart. Eyes widened, her face radiated a flushing heat, and in the emerald pools reflected the Gamer’s intense annoyance. “I warned you that there would be a punishment if you insulted me like that again.”

“Like your words have any teeth, what could you even do to me that wouldn’t make you a hypocrite, ‘President’?”

“You’re a confused, impudent woman. You have millennia of experience to fall back on, lifetimes of situations to recall, and yet you cannot fathom something new. All you served since Babylon were the kind of people deadly afraid of being betrayed, for they were all traitors themselves. You cling on to Akkad, because that was when everything was good, when what you did fit into the greater whole. Tiamat took that rosy retreat of memory from you, stained it all, and now there’s nothing left for you but a jaded view of a world filled to the brim with snakes and their naïve prey. You hate your mother for being the former and you hate yourself for having been the latter. You cannot bear to face Metra because you think I’m a mistake that neutralizes even that last bit of hope you had for the resurrection of your kingdom.”

John released her hand and gave her a gentle shove. It was enough to make her stumble into the nearest wall. The Metracana panted as if she had just escaped several minutes of brawling. “You think… you know so much…” she hissed.

“I know this much,” he stated, emphasizing every word. “I’m every bit the erudite philosopher king that the greatest monarchs you have served and heard about wished they were. I’m the leader of a member of the Divided Gates.”

“Arrogance!”

“Yes!” John barked back. “But I have my arrogance under control! I have to have it under control – I use a celestial star-eater as a secondary conscience, because a cricket wouldn’t suffice for an ego like mine!” He slammed his hand hard against the stone right next to Ehtra’s head, effectively pinning her between himself and the wall. The First of Hatred gulped audibly. “And you keep egging me on,” he growled at her. “Is this what you want? For me to snap at you and tell you everything I really feel you need to do? For me to forget myself and just give you an order that you can chip away at, distract yourself from the gnawing void of where your Tiamat-given purpose once was?” His index finger stabbed at her solar plexus. “Well?!”

Ehtra stared at him. The fierce, dark-skinned woman felt so tiny in that moment. Slowly, she glided down the wall, until she sat on the unclean ground of the alleyway. “I don’t know,” she croaked. “I don’t… know… I just feel so… empty…”

John’s anger dispersed quickly, listening to the miserable tones of the grey angel. She was too stubborn or too stoic to cry, instead just sitting there, legs pulled in, forehead on her wrists. Squatting down in front of her, John put a hand on her white head.

“I don’t know what you need, Ehtra,” he told her. “Finding a problem is always easier than fixing it. I can give you a number of educated suggestions. I already have. I’m not giving you an order. I’m not making anything part of our contract. I want you to choose.”

“Fuck you, heartfelt.” Ehtra pouted, her tone less biting than usual. She brushed his hand off after a few seconds. “I hate this. I hate being confused. I hate being empty… I just have to make an answer?”

“You’ll have to set yourself a goal and work towards it, yeah,” John said and allowed himself a soft chuckle. “Most basic life advice. It’s fascinating how often we all need to hear it.”

“You apparently don’t.” Ehtra delivered a playful kick to his chest.

“I haven’t had to hear it recently, but I’m still working on a few big projects, so…” John shrugged. “Give it a decade or two. You’ll get your opportunity to lay into me.”

Ehtra rolled her eyes. “I can manage that tomorrow.” The kick turned into demanding pressure. John got the hint and backed off, allowing Ehtra to stand up. “I’m the First of Hatred, a literal angel, and I have emotional conversations in a dirty alleyway,” she grumbled to herself, as she dusted off her behind. “That’s what I get for thinking anything is beneath me.”

“What will you do now?” John asked the big question. It still hovered in the air, along with the options that he had given her. “I can give you distraction, a new master, advice, or just more time.”

“I’ll stop being an embarrassment to my entire kind,” Ehtra gave a cryptic answer.