You know how everyone thinks being the “Second-in-Command” of the most powerful faction on the planet meant glamorous meetings, shiny armor, and drinking expensive wine while looking at maps?

  Let me correct the record.

  It means endless meetings about sewage infrastructure. It means negotiating with three different species over the proper zoning laws for a bakery. And it means trying to convince a seven-foot tall Lizardman that he cannot, in fact, challenge a postal worker to a duel to the death because his package was late.

  I am Lucas, an evolved Tier 5 that is more powerful than over half of the superheroes we used to watch as children on earth. A Stage 2 Sovereign by the new titles that came with the Integration. I can shatter a small mountain with a single punch. I have tanked the breath of a Rift-Drake.

  But right now, the most terrifying thing in my life is the stack of paperwork on my desk titled Proposed Tax Adjustments for Spirit-Grain Imports.

  “It never ends,” I sighed, rubbing my temples as I sat in the new administrative office at the base of Bastion’s Tower.

  Outside the window, the city was thriving. It wasn’t the refugee camp we started with. It was a metropolis of white stone and mana-lights, pulsing with the vibrant, chaotic energy of a world rebuilding itself. Humans, Elves, Dweorg, and S’skarr moved through the streets. I saw a group of human teenagers teaching a young Dweorg how to ride a mana powered hoverboard, while an Elf debated Essence-theory with a S’skarr merchant over a stall of glowing fruits.

  It was beautiful. It was everything we fought for.

  But inside this office? War.

  “Lucas,” Freja walked in, looking like a valkyrie who had just lost a battle with a filing cabinet. “The Northern delegates are arguing again. The Frost-Clan refuses to share the ice-mines with the refugees from Delta-09. They say ‘Southerners have weak blood and will melt the ice with their incompetence’.”

  “Tell them the ice can't be melted because magic and it doesn’t care about where they come from,” I groaned. “And tell Bjorn if he doesn’t mediate, I’m sending Rexxar up there to give ‘motivational speeches’.”

  “Cruel,” Freja smirked. “Effective.”

  “And the Eastern sector?” I asked, signing a document authorizing a new alchemy lab for Eliza.

  “Silas reports the Wyverns may have caused a small problem. Apparently, the local bird population is… tasty. We’re dealing with angry farmers.”

  “Compensate them. Double market value. Just keep the dragons fed to make sure they behave.”

  This was the reality of the ‘Void Star’. Eren was out there bending space and fighting eldritch horrors. Silas out doing delivery. Eliza was running the labs and research with Leoric. Nyx was assassinating threats before they were threats. I was here, making sure the plumbing worked. We had delegated many capable people of administrating these tasks too but it somehow always ends up coming back to me. Jeeves would have handled most of these things himself had he not been busy “setting up countermeasures and contingencies to increase our security against an ancient Undead Empire” which apparently dwarfs the Kyorians.

  I still wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

  Every signature meant a family fed. Every dispute resolved meant a civil war averted. We were building a civilization, brick by frustrating brick.

  “Get ready,” Freja said, her tone sobering. “The Council meets in three hours. The teleportation pad is prepping.”

  I looked at the clock.

  The Council.

  The neutral ground at Nexus Delta-00 — the geometric center of the gathered territories.

  “Right,” I stood up, straightening my ‘Plate Armor’ — which was just overkill in my opinion. Eren had insisted that as a representative of the Void Star I needed a proper upgrade. Which is why Leoric worked with Eliza for three days to craft my new Tier 6 Mythic, Light Bringer armor, polished to the point it could actually blind people. Its damage absorption and reflection properties were very interesting though. “Let’s go herd some cats.”

  The Council Chamber at Delta-00 was directly designed by the Prime System, which meant it was intimidatingly majestic.

  It was a circular amphitheater of floating obsidian platforms, surrounded by a forcefield dome that looked out over a pristine, uninhabited valley. Each faction was assigned a specific sector, separated by privacy screens of shimmering hard-light and impenetrable shielding.

  I stood at the podium of the Void Star sector. It was the largest, reflecting our 25-tower dominance. Around me sat the representatives of our alliance — Elves from Aethelgard, Dweorg clan-elders, S’skarr Chieftains, and human guild leaders from our territories.

  Across the gap, the other factions were assembled.

  The Iron Covenant sector was all red banners and scowling men in heavy plate. Korg wasn’t there personally — likely sulking or fearing an assassination — but his lieutenant, a scarred kineticist named Voros, glared at me like I owed him money.

  The Solar Ascendancy sector was bright, filled with robed figures radiating light-mana and judgment. They looked down on everyone else like we were stains on a carpet.

  The Azure Syndicate was wet. Literally. Their representatives were Aquatic-S’skarr variants — gilled, blue-scaled, and smelling of salt. Their dome was a giant globe of water with coral underwater chairs and all.

  And then there was ANON. The digital faction had sent a single, motionless android that stood like a statue in its booth.

  We have merely presented our initial drafts for the agreements before everything turned into chaos. The noise level was quickly rising.

  “This is preposterous!” A human from the Iron Covenant slammed his fist on the barrier. “Why do the lizards get a vote? Their highest are Tier 4 at best! Humans are the dominant species of this world! We cleared the tutorials faster than anyone else, other than those few traitorous, golden-spoon-fed four armed Groknar! We suffered and sacrificed the most!”

  “Dominant?” A S’skarr from our sector hissed, his frills flushing red. “You soft-skins died by the millions to Tier 1 rats! My people hunted Raptors with spears before the System even integrated!”

  “Primitive savages,” a Dweorg lord grumbled, adjusting his runic spectacles. “None of you respect the craft. You just loot and destroy. Only the Dweorg understand the true meaning of the Essence behind our stone!”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “Quiet, rock-eater,” an Aquatic S’skarr burbled from his tank. “You are so dense that you would sink like those stones you love the moment you touch water. How can you be so arrogant when you can’t travel half our World?”

  “Can everyone stop measuring their…” I rubbed my forehead, turning on our privacy veil. “Freja, this is going downhill fast.”

  “It’s a Council, Lucas,” she shrugged. “They have to vent before they vote.”

  The tension spiked.

  “Earth Humans are superior!” a zealot from the Solar faction shouted. “We average two entire Tiers higher than the other inferior Alien humans! Not a single non Earthen human has even hit Tier 5! Why should we share power with those clearly less evolved beings? This is a meritocracy, not a charity!”

  “Meritocracy?” Elder Valerius of the Elves stood up from beside me, his voice melodic but cold. “We have been asked by Eren to join for our wisdom in these matters and to observe, but watching this devolve into this is reminiscent of our early days. We have lived for decades longer than your dead grandparents. We have mastered mana while your ancestors were banging rocks together. Do not mistake System assistance for genuine kindness. You need to learn to work together, or you will perish.”

  “Elven arrogance!” someone threw a cup. It bounced off a barrier.

  The arguments weren’t just about policy. They were primal. Species bias. Old world racism mixed with new world power scaling. The Earth Humans felt entitled because they were the “Protagonists” of the Integration. The natives of Prime Settlements felt resentful of the “invading” refugees from the fallen Nexus hubs. The allied races felt condescended to.

  It was a powder keg.

  “Order!” I shouted, amplifying my voice. “We are here to establish trade agreements, policies and procedures, and a mutual defense. Or at least non aggression pacts! Not to debate genetics!”

  “Defense against who?” Voros of the Iron Covenant sneered. “You? The Void Star is the only threat here! You hoard twenty-five towers! You starve us of resources! You claim to protect us, but you’re just blatantly conquering us!”

  “We simply want to protect our world from extinction! And do you really think we need these underhanded tactics to conquer you?” I countered, my patience fraying. “Or did you forget the Angel our now dead, undead friend Azrael summoned?”

  “Propaganda!” Voros yelled. “There was no angel! Just a massive mana-explosion you conveniently caused to wipe out a rival!”

  “We showed you the logs!” I pointed to the ANON droid. “They even somehow recorded it, which we have also shared with you all!”

  The droid didn’t move. Helpful.

  The arguing intensified. A Dweorg pulled a hammer. A human mage ignited a fireball. The privacy and shielding screens were the only thing stopping this from becoming an all out brawl.

  I stood there, looking at the chaos. Fifty different voices screaming about bloodlines, territory, and history. They were ready to kill each other over perceived slights while the actual monsters waited outside the walls.

  I felt… helpless.

  I was a Tank. I could hold a shield wall. I could protect my friends. But I couldn’t tank ideology. I couldn’t taunt prejudice.

  I closed my eyes, remembering the conversation I had with Eren two nights ago.

  “You handle the talking, Lucas,” Eren had said, playing with a sword made of a literal blank space of nothing. “You’re the face. The relatable one. The guy they can trust.”

  “And what are you?” I had asked.

  “Me?” Eren grinned, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m the Consequence.”

  “So, what’s the play?”

  “Simple. You be the shield. If they don’t listen to the shield… I’ll bring the sword.”

  Back in the chamber, a spell sizzled past my ear.

  “Finally,” I whispered.

  The air in the chamber changed.

  It wasn’t a sound. It was a drop in pressure. The arguments didn’t stop because people calmed down; they stopped because people suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  The portal in the center of the room — the one reserved for “Arrivals” — twisted.

  This time though, somehow, it wasn’t a blue system portal.

  It was violet. Jagged. It looked like someone had kicked a door through reality.

  Silence slammed into the room. Absolute, terrified silence.

  From the tear in space, a figure walked out.

  He was wearing his full armor — the [Abyssal Sovereign’s Carapace]. It didn’t reflect light; it ate it. Shadows coiled around his boots like obedient pets. He wore no helmet, his expression bored, almost detached.

  Even without any hostile intent, I felt it. His Domain was in an active state, projecting outside his body, but dialed down to a simmering background hum. It clearly was not targeted towards me, but it still was suffocating, engulfing my own Domain and almost crushing it inwards.

  I watched Voros turn pale. The S’skarr Chieftain shrank back into his tank. The Solar Zealot stopped mid-rant, his mouth hanging open.

  They felt the Entropy.

  They felt the distinct, biological certainty that the person standing in the center of the room could end their existence not by fighting them, but by simply deciding they were no longer compatible with reality.

  It was the fear of a rabbit sensing a wolf.

  Eren didn’t speak to the crowd. He didn’t address the insults. He didn’t acknowledge the Dweorg holding a hammer or the Mage with the fireball.

  He just looked at the floating displays of the other factions. He scanned ANON’s droid — which beeped respectfully. He glanced at the Covenant. He bored his eyes into the Solar Ascendancy.

  Then he turned to me.

  “Lucas,” his voice was calm, but in the silence, it sounded like thunder.

  “Have you figured out the trade and defense agreements?”

  I looked around the room. I looked at the terrified Kineticist, the shivering Zealot, the silent Dweorg.

  “Well,” I cleared my throat, adjusting my papers. “We were just discussing the final clauses. Specifically regarding the rights of minority species and resource distribution.”

  Eren tilted his head. “Is there a problem?”

  He didn’t make a threat. He just asked a question.

  The Dweorg lord dropped his hammer.

  “No problem!” the Dweorg squeaked. “Trade is good! Stone will be… shared! Very equitable!”

  “We agree to the terms…” Voros whispered, sweating profusely. “The Covenant ratifies the treaty…”

  “The S’skarr concur!” the lizard chieftain burbled.

  “Solar Ascendancy… has no objections,” the Zealot Tier 5 Representative sighed, sitting down abruptly.

  I looked at Eren. He winked. A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his eyelid.

  “Excellent,” I said, projecting the Soul contract. “In that case, the ‘Treaty of Delta-00’ is ratified. All hostilities cease. Borders are frozen. Trade lanes open in twenty-four hours.”

  I sealed the contract after everyone submitted the Essence signature of their representatives backed by the Prime System’s Laws.

  The sound echoed like a gunshot.

  The tension in the room broke.

  Eren turned and walked back to the portal.

  “I’ll leave you to the details,” he said. “I have other matters to attend to.”

  He vanished as quickly as he appeared, taking the crushing gravity of his presence with him.

  The room exhaled collectively. The arguments resumed, but they were quieter now. More… respectful. Like children arguing while their parents are sleeping in the next room.

  I slumped back in my chair, watching a Dweorg shake hands with a S’skarr he had called a ‘primitive savage’ two minutes ago.

  “It’s amazing,” I whispered to Freja, leaning over my shoulder.

  “What is?”

  “How incredibly efficient diplomacy becomes,” I muttered, rereading the contracts, “when the alternative is immediate, overwhelming existential dread.”

  I chuckled, turning to look at the people asking for a private communication link to our booth.