The air in the opulent chamber, still charged with the residual tension of a recent confrontation finally began to settle. John, his gaze unwavering, pressed for clarification. "What do you mean 'curse'?"
Christopher, seated on what served as his throne, let out a heavy sigh that seemed out of place for a man of his apparent power. He reached up, fingers brushing the ornate buckles of his helmet, before lifting it free with a practiced motion. Beneath, a weary, almost haunted expression replaced the intimidating facade. He set the helmet aside, running a hand through his matted hair as if trying to physically smooth away his frustrations.
"It's… complicated," Chris began, his voice gravelly, a stark contrast to his earlier bluster. "When I first awakened my class, I was already formidable. People, drawn by the raw power radiating from me, naturally sought conflict. I fought them, easily beating them down. But even after… my emotions became muted, I found no joy in taking a life. So, I merely left them defeated. It was a mistake, in hindsight."
He paused, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Before I knew it, various factions started coalescing. They began calling me their 'boss.' At first, I went along with it. Strength in numbers, right? And they brought me resources, tribute. It seemed… pragmatic. Why not, you know?" A bitter chuckle escaped him. "Time passed. Stronger individuals, like Lucy, joined the fold. Next thing, I'm apparently some kind of Warlord, with grand designs to rule everything. Or so they say."
He shook his head, rubbing his temples in a gesture of profound exasperation. "I try to explain that I am an Overlord, a term I chose to signify my mastery over myself, my domain, to rise above the petty squabbles. But they interpret it as 'standing over everyone else as a lord,' a dictator. I attempt to strategize, to lay out even the simplest plans and they twist it. Worse than a pretzel, John. Every single time."
"At least… the benefits aren't entirely bad," he added, a wry, almost boyish grin momentarily displacing his weariness. "Even if the women are… well, let's just say 'enthusiastic' bordering on 'batshit crazy'."
John let out a genuine, if slightly uncomfortable, laugh. "If I had a beer or some proper booze, I'd probably give you a toast right now. For having the brass balls big enough to stick your dick in crazy, that is." He shook his head, the humor quickly fading. "But I can somewhat understand your predicament. Still, even with these… managerial issues, you're clearly faring better than countless others out there."
Chris scoffed, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "You would think that, wouldn't you? But my various 'arms,' as I like to call them, are a constant source of friction. They keep provoking the City of Light, stirring up trouble with the government. Honestly, I'm surprised we haven't plunged into outright war yet. And your earlier outburst, John, the way you stormed in here and threatened me to my face – in front of Lucy, no less – perfectly illustrates my point. One of them clearly crossed a line with you." He paused, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "She may appear calm, even demure, but Lucy… she's arguably the most unhinged of my girls."
"Probably her class," John mused, a shadow passing over his features. "She was never like that when I knew her, before… all of this. But that's beside the point. Your Chaos Marauders," he said, the name laced with venom, "they cost me someone precious. And I will be getting my pound of flesh from them." His voice, though quiet, held a steely resolve that left no room for doubt.
Chris merely snorted, a clear sound of disdain. He waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away a persistent fly. "By all means, John. If you can, put those rabid mutts down. They're more trouble than they're worth these days. In the early stages, they were decent cannon fodder, useful for overwhelming lesser threats. Now? They're just causing widespread chaos, all while claiming to act in my name. The real problem for me is that I can't openly move against them, at least not against the majority of their numbers."
John frowned, his mind already spinning through possible solutions. "Why not? Can't you simply turn your other groups on them if they're such a menace? Or deploy them against the government forces or the City of Light? Hell, I've heard rumors of intense fighting down south — people battling monsters, even against the Dragons. That could be an ideal way to get rid of them, while simultaneously solving some problems and spreading your influence."
Chris responded with a deep, exasperated sigh. "It's not that simple," Chris explained, running a hand over his face. "If I turn my other groups against them, it would sow widespread nervousness among my own ranks. It would make me appear incapable of controlling my own people, a glaring sign of infighting and weakness. If I send them to attack either the City of Light or the government, that would instantly ignite an open war. And focusing on one means the other could seize the opportunity to strike at me when I'm vulnerable. As for sending them down south, into the thick of the monster and Dragon conflicts… I did consider it. But there's a significant risk: if they succeed, even partially, it would bolster their image exponentially, leading to a massive influx of recruitment. That would only necessitate sending more of my own people into their faction, effectively feeding the rabid dog machine that's already growing out of control."
John's frown deepened, the complexity of Chris's predicament becoming clearer. "You've clearly given this a great deal of thought," John observed, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. Chris simply nodded, confirming his constant internal struggle.
"Ever since they properly formed," Chris continued, his voice taking on a more analytical edge, "the only silver lining is a slight internal divide. On one side, you have what I've dubbed the 'Mad Dogs' – a minority faction, but one that's slowly, dangerously, growing larger under their current, particularly aggressive leader. On the other, there's the 'Old Guard,' as I call them, who initially founded the Marauders simply as a scavenger group. They still hold majority control, but their power is slowly being chipped away by the Mad Dogs' relentless expansion and radicalization."
"And you can't step in," John finished, his mind connecting the dots, "even as their supposed leader. Because doing so would look like favoritism, making your other factions question what's stopping you from interfering with their operations. You've built a solid machine, Chris, but it's too solid. You can't interfere without breaking something fundamental."
A flicker of relief, thin but genuine, crossed Chris's face. "Exactly! I'm glad you understand that. Honestly, you're not the first I've explained this to, but the others either ended up dead trying to 'help' me, or they simply thought I was full of shit and walked away."
"How did they try to help?" John asked, genuine curiosity piqued. He wanted to understand the full scope of Chris's dilemma.
Chris sighed, a familiar weariness returning. "They went out to fight them head-on, of course. Swearing vengeance, or manufacturing some flimsy excuse to engage them. They never listened when I warned them they were hopelessly outnumbered. Idiots thought their 'blessings' or raw power would be enough, only to be butchered. Most of them didn't even limit themselves to the Mad Dogs; they tried to take on the entire Chaos Marauders group by attacking their main base. Each failed attempt only fueled the Marauders' sense of invincibility, pushing them to seek more strength, to recruit more. It caused more harm than help, every single time."
A heavy silence descended upon the chamber, neither man speaking for a long moment as the weight of Chris's words settled. The air grew thick with unspoken thoughts, with the grim reality of desperate choices.
Then, John broke the quiet, his voice slow and deliberate, as if carefully constructing a delicate bridge. "What if," he began, watching Christopher's expression carefully, "you send the Mad Dogs, as a large, consolidated group, after a specific target? One that would not only benefit your overarching organization but could also be framed as retribution for their past losses?"
Christopher stared back, a confused crease forming between his brows. He hadn't expected John to suddenly pivot to a strategic proposal.
"My small camp down south," John continued, gesturing vaguely in that direction. "I've had… problems with them attacking it. You could use the temptation of what I have stored there as bait. Combine that with the narrative of retribution – for my perceived defiance, for not submitting – and revenge for the members they lost during those skirmishes. Frame it as the perfect opportunity to send the Mad Dogs as a whole, a unified force, directly at me and my own. The goal, of course, being that they would be entirely wiped out, or at the very least, heavily culled."
Chris snorted, a cynical glint in his eyes. "And what, pray tell, would you want for such a… generous offer? I highly doubt this grand scheme of yours is being done out of the goodness of your heart, John."
John's expression remained utterly serious, his gaze unwavering. "Everyone who had anything to do with them attacking my small camp down south. Every single one. And," he leaned forward slightly, emphasizing his next words, "your help. As an equal partner. To take over this entire area. From the Dragons up north to the chaotic fighting down south, from the City of Light to the west to the government in the east. I want us to have complete, undeniable control over everything, before the barriers to the other sections of this world inevitably drop."
Once again, silence descended, heavier this time, pregnant with the gravity of John's audacious proposal. Chris's initial cynicism gave way to a calculating frown.
"Conquering this entire area… that could probably happen eventually, even with the Mad Dogs causing trouble," Chris mused, weighing the words. "But by sending them against you, I'd be sacrificing a significant portion of my forces. Even if they are troublesome, they're still useful as cannon fodder, at the very least. And more importantly," he eyed John critically, "I would have to acknowledge you as an equal. An equal who, by all public announcements and common knowledge, is demonstrably far weaker than I am. I saw the global announcement like everyone else, John."
"I suppose that's true in most cases," John conceded, though he didn't flinch under Chris's scrutiny. "However, I can be a unique source of resources and supplies that few others could hope to match. Furthermore, I have a clearer understanding of what's truly going on in this world than almost anyone else you know. My class is also highly craft-oriented, a path I intend to fully explore if given the chance. But don't mistake that for weakness; I've survived to this point and I've been actively culling your 'Mad Dogs' on my own terms. More to the point, Chris, I had the sheer audacity to walk into your own throne room, stand before you and state my intentions without a hint of fear. Even now, I wouldn't hesitate to give it my best shot at bringing down your entire empire, throwing all caution to the wind regarding the chaos it might unleash."
Christopher stared for a moment, then a slow, hearty laugh erupted from him, filling the chamber. It wasn't a mocking laugh, but one of genuine, albeit slightly unhinged, amusement.
"So," Chris finally managed, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "you and your rag-tag group take them out and then what? I doubt that single act would be enough to establish you as a valid equal in the eyes of my command. Many in my ranks would be up in arms, questioning such a partnership. You would, at the very least, need your own formidable force. Tell me," He challenged, his tone now serious again, "do you truly comprehend the sheer number of individuals I have under my command? Do you know the figures my spies have painstakingly gathered on the government's military strength or the City of Light's legions?"
John remained silent, his expression unreadable, letting Chris's question hang in the air.
Seeing John's silence, Chris pressed on, a touch of unintentional gloating creeping into his voice. "For the Chaos Marauders alone, I command over six hundred individuals. Over a hundred and fifty of them, at minimum, would be part of any significant assault. Then there are my Shadow Reavers, numbering over three hundred. My Legionnaires boast more than five hundred and my Nightshade Syndicate easily surpasses two hundred and fifty. Naturally, these aren't the exact, current figures and I'm deliberately low-balling them, but do you get the picture now, at least? I have them spread out dynamically, but those are the minimum numbers you'd be dealing with. And yet, the government and the City of Light? Each of those two factions could likely match, if not exceed, that. We're talking about a combined force of over one thousand seven hundred strong for me, at a minimum, potentially matched by each opposing side."
John listened to the impressive, if intimidating, enumeration of forces. He absorbed the numbers, his mind calculating. After a moment of deep thought, he spoke again, his voice calm despite the scale of Chris's power. "If I possessed an army of my own, then, or at least a force strong enough to face off against an army of that magnitude… would that be enough to convince your people and you, of a legitimate partnership between us? I heard earlier that in this new world, it's 'might makes right.' So, if I can demonstrate a force of equal might, would that finally be enough to prove the validity of a partnership?"
Chris leaned back, his gaze narrowing, a hint of genuine intrigue now mixing with his skepticism. "It would need to be truly immense, then. A force of unparalleled power. But it's also something I know for a fact you don't have. If another army of that scale, a truly significant power, existed out there, John, I would have known about it. My intelligence network is comprehensive."
The air in the makeshift throne room hung heavy with the scent of stale ale and freshly spilled blood, a familiar perfume in Christopher's domain. Shadows danced in the flickering torchlight, painting grotesque figures on the rough-hewn walls as a figure detached itself from the gloom. John, lean and coiled with an almost feral energy, advanced a few paces before stopping, his eyes, sharp as flint, fixed on Christopher's impassive face.
"Give me sixteen days," John began, his voice a gravelly murmur that nonetheless commanded attention. "In that time, I will forge an army from the disparate souls I command. Gather your 'mad dogs,' Christopher and all the other troublesome elements you struggle to control. Send them against my camp after the allotted time. It will solve your problem of unruly subordinates and, simultaneously, prove my worth as an equal ally to you and your forces." John's fist clenched demonstrably at his side, the knuckles stark white. "After that, we can discuss the elimination of our other enemies – through negotiation or, more likely, through force. But I demand one thing."
His voice dropped, a dangerous note entering it. "Every single person involved in the previous raids down south must be part of that attacking force, no matter their standing. Even if they merely passed on commands, I want every individual involved to be there. I want them slaughtered, killed without mercy." A cold, almost palpable bloodlust began to leak from him, a faint aura of violence that made the air itself seem to prickle.
Christopher leaned back on his crude throne, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his lips. "Fine. I will see what I can do. But understand this, John: if you fail to defend, if you lose, not only will my forces take every resource from your supposed camp, but they will take any prisoners they can get their hands on. And unfortunately, female prisoners, in particular, are rarely treated well by my men. They often don't make it back in a good state, if at all."
The veiled threat, delivered with a casual cruelty, struck a nerve. John's bloodlust spiked, a momentary flash of pure fury in his eyes, before he wrestled it back under control. He merely nodded, a curt, stiff motion, before turning on his heel and exiting the throne room, his hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor until silence rushed back in.
"Well, that went well, I think," a soft, melodious voice purred from behind Christopher's throne. "But why didn't you just kill him, my lord, or convince him to join your forces directly? I know you could have killed him. And if not, I was here as well, ready to take him by surprise."
Christopher chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. From the shadows behind his seat, a young woman emerged. Petite, almost delicate, she moved with the predatory grace of a cat, clad in a strikingly fitted variant of the Chaos Marauder's armor. Unlike the ill-fitting, battle-scarred scraps worn by many of his soldiers, hers was clearly custom-made, hugging her tightly, its dark plates gleaming, far completer and more protective. Her blonde hair, streaked boldly with crimson highlights, cascaded down her back, a vibrant contrast to the dark metal. Despite her small stature, her form held undeniable curves, a testament to her inherent femininity, untouched by the brutality of her surroundings. She came around the throne, her hips swaying subtly and settled herself onto Christopher's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, her scent – a mix of sweat, leather and something uniquely hers – filling his senses.
"I've read enough manga before 'the changes' to know not to chance such things, my dear," Christopher replied, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine beneath her armor. His smile deepened, a glint of shrewd calculation in his eyes. "Either it works out and we gain a strong, ambitious ally, or he dies and we will have merely wasted some cannon fodder at worst, checking whatever hidden strength he truly possesses in his supposed camp. The risk-reward is acceptable." He paused, his gaze distant for a moment. "The alternative, however, is far less appealing. He could somehow manage to hurt or even kill me, escape and then return stronger, resulting in our utter loss or worse. So, I'd rather not take such a foolish risk right now. This way is safer, more controlled."
He wasn't always so cautious, but he had learned. Sometimes, the direct path led to the most painful traps.
His explanation was cut short as she leaned in, capturing his lips in a deep, heated kiss. Her arms tightened around his neck, fingers already deftly working at the clasps of his heavy armor, a silent invitation, an unspoken promise in the urgency of her touch.
"Mmmm," she murmured against his mouth, her voice husky with desire. "That's my smart man. Now, why don't I show you my... appreciation?" Her voice was a sultry whisper, designed to ignite a fire within him.
"Oh? Was last night not enough, my dear?" Christopher teased, a wicked glint in his eyes. His hand, strong and possessive, gripped her ass, squeezing gently. She let out a soft moan, a sound that thrilled him to his core, before biting playfully at his neck, her teeth just grazing his skin.
"I want you just to myself for a bit," she managed, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. A fierce, almost primal intensity flared in her gaze as she continued to dismantle his armor with surprising strength and speed. "And if you don't absolutely wreck me until I can't walk for hours, I promise you, I'm going to wreck you instead. I'll leave you out cold and drained for at least a few days." With a final, impatient tug, she physically ripped the last of his chest plate free, the heavy metal clattering to the floor with a resounding crash. Her armor, too, seemed to come undone with remarkable ease, the plates scattering around them as her hands moved with desperate urgency to free him of his own.
"Jeez, you all are truly crazy bitches, aren't you?" Christopher growled, the words a raw exhalation of desire. But the affection in his voice was unmistakable, a possessive delight. "But you're all mine!" He said practically as a growl as he pulled her closer, his lips crushing hers in a deep, consuming kiss as his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back slightly. With a surge of primal strength, he forced her down onto the floor, ready to have his way with her, eager to meet her challenge with an answering hunger that promised to leave them both breathless and drained by the end of it.