Malachai had conquered a country.
He had fought heroes, villains, monsters, armies, and things that technically required several committees to determine whether they qualified as living beings.
He had built a space station.
He had survived becoming something capable of bending reality.
None of those experiences had prepared him for nearly five thousand unexpected houseguests.
"My Lord."
Malachai looked up from the stack of reports on his desk.
Mara stood before him with a tablet.
"How many?"
"Four thousand, eight hundred and seventeen."
"Yesterday it was four thousand six hundred."
"More arrived overnight."
"Of course they did."
"We also have one hundred and forty-three dogs, fifty-two cats, seven birds, three rabbits, two snakes, and—"
"The goat."
Mara hesitated.
Malachai narrowed his eyes.
"Mara."
"There are two goats."
Silence.
Malachai slowly placed his pen on the desk.
"How did we acquire another goat?"
"We don't know."
"Does anyone know who owns the first goat?"
"No."
"And the second?"
"No."
Malachai stared at her.
Mara stared back.
"Fine."
He stood.
"We'll solve the livestock mystery later. What is the immediate problem?"
"Syrup."
Malachai stopped.
"Syrup."
"We're nearly out."
District Nine's primary cafeteria had never been designed for this.
It could feed hundreds comfortably.
Thousands with preparation.
Nearly five thousand heroes, villains, relatives, henchpeople, Justicars, Dark Paladins, children, grandparents, and assorted animals arriving with less than a day's notice was somewhat beyond the original design specifications.
When Malachai entered, he found a breakfast line stretching almost to the entrance.
A henchman hurried toward him.
"My Lord."
"How bad?"
"We have pancakes."
"Good."
"Eggs."
"Good."
"Sausage."
"Good."
"Coffee."
"Excellent."
The henchman swallowed.
"Maple syrup is projected to last another seventeen minutes."
Malachai immediately pulled out his communicator.
"Mara."
She answered from directly behind him.
"Yes?"
He lowered the communicator.
"Right."
Mara waited.
"Emergency procurement."
"For syrup?"
"Yes."
She typed something.
Malachai pointed.
"And coffee."
"We have coffee."
"We have five thousand people."
Mara added coffee.
"And toilet paper."
"We just bought—"
"Mara."
She added toilet paper.
The wholesale club had taught him caution.
Across the cafeteria, a Guild hero and a masked villain were staring at one another over the last available seat at a table.
"This is my assigned section," the hero said.
The villain continued eating his pancakes.
"There are no assigned sections."
"There should be."
"You threw a car at me last year."
The villain looked offended.
"It was a compact."
"It was still a car."
"It barely weighed anything."
Malachai approached.
Both immediately noticed him.
"No fighting."
The villain raised his fork.
"We're discussing."
"You are discussing attempted vehicular assault."
"It was contextually appropriate."
The hero stared at him.
Malachai pointed toward the empty chair.
"Sit."
The hero sat.
"You."
The villain lowered his fork.
"Do not throw transportation at him."
"Understood."
Malachai walked away.
Behind him, the hero muttered:
"You still owe me for the car."
"You weren't even driving it."
"It belonged to my sister."
"...Oh."
A pause.
"I may owe your sister for the car."
Malachai continued walking.
That, apparently, counted as progress.
Nearby, three Dark Paladins sat in complete silence.
Their armor remained on.
Their swords rested beside them.
Their pancakes remained untouched.
A cafeteria worker stood over them.
"Eat."
One Dark Paladin looked up.
"We do not require indulgence."
"They're pancakes."
"Precisely."
Malachai stopped.
The First Fallen sat at the next table.
He was eating pancakes.
Malachai looked at him.
The First Fallen looked at the Dark Paladins.
"Eat."
One Paladin frowned.
"Commander—"
"That was an order."
The Paladin cautiously cut into the pancakes.
He took one bite.
His expression remained perfectly stern.
Then he took another.
The cafeteria worker crossed her arms.
"Well?"
"They are..."
He considered his answer carefully.
"...acceptable."
"Want another?"
A long pause.
"Yes."
The First Fallen looked toward Malachai.
Neither said anything.
Malachai continued walking.
There were certain victories one simply allowed to happen.
By midmorning, District Nine had settled into something resembling organization.
Then childcare opened.
Malachai made the mistake of inspecting it personally.
He and Vale approached the doorway together.
Inside, Elara stood before approximately two hundred children.
"All right! Everybody listen!"
Nobody listened.
Elara's eye twitched.
She placed two fingers between her lips and whistled.
The room became silent.
"Thank you."
One child immediately raised his hand.
Elara pointed.
"Yes?"
"Are you really the Void Princess of Blades?"
"Yes."
Another hand.
"Do you actually fight heroes?"
"Sometimes."
Another.
"Have you killed anyone?"
Every adult in the room froze.
Elara stared at the child.
The child stared back.
Elara clapped her hands.
"Who wants to do arts and crafts?"
Two hundred hands went up.
Malachai nodded approvingly.
"Excellent recovery."
Vale smiled.
"You taught her well."
"I taught her absolutely nothing about managing two hundred children."
In one corner, a Dark Paladin sat surrounded by six children.
He held a picture book.
His voice possessed the solemnity normally reserved for announcing the fall of kingdoms.
"And the little rabbit..."
The children leaned closer.
"...returned home."
One child raised her hand.
The Dark Paladin stopped.
"Yes?"
"What happened to the fox?"
"The story does not specify."
"Did the fox go to jail?"
"No."
"Why?"
The Dark Paladin looked down at the book.
His brow furrowed.
Another child joined in.
"Maybe the fox was sorry."
"Remorse does not eliminate accountability."
Vale slowly turned toward Malachai.
Malachai was already backing away.
"We should leave."
"Agreed."
Behind them, the Dark Paladin continued debating criminal justice with six-year-olds.
They had almost escaped when a tremendous roar came from inside.
Malachai spun.
Void energy immediately gathered around his hand.
Vale drew her weapon.
They rushed back through the doorway.
A retired supervillain was crawling around on all fours while children attacked him with foam swords.
"YOU CANNOT DEFEAT INFERNAX!"
A child smacked him on the head.
"YOU'RE DEAD!"
"I HAVE FIRE IMMUNITY!"
"THIS IS A SWORD!"
"THEN YOUR BLADE LACKS THE STRENGTH TO—"
Elara hit him with a foam sword.
The retired villain dramatically collapsed.
The children cheered.
Malachai slowly lowered his hand.
Vale sheathed her weapon.
Elara noticed them.
"Everything's under control."
Malachai looked at the retired supervillain lying motionless beneath six children.
"Clearly."
He closed the door.
By lunch, the atmosphere had changed.
Not dramatically.
Heroes still watched villains.
Villains still watched heroes.
Justicars and Dark Paladins were keeping enough distance between themselves that Mara had quietly removed all sharp utensils from two sections of the cafeteria.
But people were talking.
That mattered.
A Guild hero sat beside a henchwoman discussing parental leave.
"You get twelve weeks?"
"Minimum."
The hero stared at her.
"Paid?"
"Yes."
He slowly turned toward his supervisor three tables away.
The supervisor immediately shook his head.
"Don't."
"We need to talk."
"We absolutely do not."
At another table, an elderly retired hero was playing cards with a villain Malachai vaguely remembered from some incident involving three banks and a helicopter.
The hero pointed accusingly.
"You're cheating."
"I am not."
"You have x-ray vision."
"Natural ability."
"You're looking through my cards!"
"Sounds like a tactical deficiency."
"You did this in 1998!"
"And you still haven't adapted."
Malachai found himself smiling.
Yesterday, some of these people had been fighting.
Today, they were arguing over pancakes, card games, childcare, and benefits.
It was ridiculous.
It was also working.
That afternoon, Hex arrived carrying a metal box.
Malachai saw him from halfway across the lobby.
"No."
Hex stopped.
"You don't even know what this is."
"No."
"Malachai."
"Hex."
"It could revolutionize our food-production capacity."
"No."
"It's perfectly safe."
"Absolutely not."
Hex looked genuinely wounded.
"You haven't heard the explanation."
Malachai pointed toward the box.
"Does it contain experimental technology?"
"Technically all technology was experimental at some—"
"Hex."
"Yes."
"Does it contain experimental technology?"
"...Yes."
"No."
"It makes pizza."
Malachai hesitated.
Hex smiled.
Vale, standing nearby, noticed.
"Don't."
Malachai frowned.
"I wasn't going to."
"You considered it."
"Only briefly."
Hex lifted the machine.
"Portable quantum convection nutritional fabrication."
Malachai immediately shook his head.
"No."
"But—"
"The last device you described using the word quantum opened a spatial anomaly."
"For seven seconds."
"Seven seconds too many."
"The pizza is excellent."
"Outside."
Hex sighed dramatically.
"You people fear progress."
Nyxara walked past carrying three pizzas.
"We already ordered some."
Hex looked at her.
Then at his machine.
Then back at her.
"Barbarism."
He walked away.
Dinner arrived without anyone declaring war.
Malachai considered that an achievement.
By evening, District Nine felt less like an emergency shelter and more like an extremely uncomfortable family reunion where half the guests had attempted to murder one another at some point.
A Justicar passed bread to a Dark Paladin without comment.
A villain helped an elderly Guild veteran carry a tray.
Solin spent fifteen minutes repairing a child's toy while Nyxara insisted she was supervising.
Elara moved between tables checking on families.
Malachai watched from the doorway.
Vale approached.
"You've been standing there for five minutes."
"I'm observing."
"You're staring."
"Strategically."
Vale followed his gaze.
"What do you see?"
Malachai considered the question.
"People."
Vale looked at him.
"That's surprisingly philosophical."
"I was going to say logistical problems."
"There it is."
Malachai smiled faintly.
"They're getting along."
"Mostly."
Someone shouted from across the cafeteria.
"HE STOLE MY BREAD!"
A hero immediately answered:
"YOU HAD THREE!"
"It was mine!"
Vale looked toward Malachai.
"Mostly."
Later that night, music began playing.
Malachai stopped walking.
He already knew.
"No."
Mara approached.
"Recreation hall."
"Nyxara?"
"Nyxara."
He entered to find hundreds of people gathered around a karaoke machine.
Nyxara stood onstage.
Solin stood beside her looking apologetic.
"Malachai!"
"No."
"You haven't heard my proposal."
"No."
"Hero-versus-villain karaoke tournament."
"No."
"A friendly competition."
"No."
"Winner gets priority breakfast seating."
"There is no priority breakfast seating."
"There could be."
"No."
A retired hero stood.
"I accept the challenge."
A villain immediately rose.
"You can't sing."
"I defeated you in Prague."
"That was combat!"
"And tonight I defeat you in music."
The crowd erupted.
Malachai looked at Vale.
"Help."
She was laughing.
"Absolutely not."
Malachai sighed.
"Fine."
Nyxara cheered.
Malachai raised one finger.
"No powers."
Several people complained.
"No property damage."
More complaints.
"No fighting."
A villain raised his hand.
"What constitutes fighting?"
"If you have to ask, don't do it."
The karaoke tournament began.
Malachai lasted forty-three minutes.
At two thirteen in the morning, he received a noise complaint.
Sector C.
He investigated personally.
Three Dark Paladins and four Justicars were sitting around a table playing cards.
One Justicar pointed toward a Dark Paladin.
"He's cheating."
"I am not."
"You moved a card."
"I adjusted its position."
"You replaced it."
"Prove it."
Malachai stared at them.
They stared back.
He slowly closed the door.
On the complaint form, he wrote:
Resolved through mutual irritation.
At three fourteen in the morning, Malachai finally sat outside District Nine headquarters.
Vale joined him.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
"I've fought armies," Malachai finally said.
"I know."
"I've conquered countries."
"I know."
"I built a space station."
"I was there."
"I have negotiated with dragons."
Vale smiled.
"And?"
Malachai looked toward the buildings behind them.
"None of it prepared me for five thousand houseguests."
Vale laughed.
"You're doing fine."
"We nearly ran out of syrup."
"But you didn't."
"Two goats remain unaccounted for."
"That's concerning."
"Someone introduced glitter into the ventilation system."
Vale stopped.
"...That's worse."
"Thank you."
Then someone shouted from inside.
"WHOSE GOAT IS THIS?!"
Malachai closed his eyes.
Vale started laughing.
Another voice shouted:
"WHY IS THERE ANOTHER ONE IN THE ELEVATOR?!"
Vale laughed harder.
Malachai stared into the distance.
"I miss the wholesale club."
That finished her.
Neither noticed the message arriving on Malachai's communicator.
Not immediately.
When he finally checked it, the humor faded.
No sender.
Only data.
PHASE III — FRACTURE
7.8%
Yesterday it had been higher.
Vale leaned over.
"They're measuring us."
"Yes."
"The number is falling."
Malachai looked back toward District Nine.
Heroes and villains slept beneath the same roofs.
Justicars guarded families alongside Dark Paladins.
Children who had no idea they were supposed to hate one another had spent the entire day playing together.
Bastion had tried to turn attachment into a weapon.
Instead, people had begun understanding what everyone else had to lose.
Malachai's expression hardened.
"They won't like that."
Vale's smile disappeared.
"No."
The communicator vibrated again.
A second message appeared.
MODEL DEVIATION CONFIRMED.
Then:
PRESSURE ADJUSTMENT AUTHORIZED.
Malachai stood.
Vale stood with him.
The quiet moment was over.
Far away, the Architect watched District Nine through a wall of screens.
One analyst spoke carefully.
"Cross-faction hostility continues declining."
"Yes."
"Phase Three is reversing."
"I can see that."
"What do we do?"
The Architect watched a Dark Paladin take a blanket from a supply cart and place it over a sleeping Guild child.
Another screen showed a villain sharing coffee with a retired hero.
Another showed Seraph and the First Fallen standing opposite one another without reaching for their swords.
The Architect remained silent for several seconds.
Then:
"Increase pressure."
"How much?"
The Architect looked toward the image of District Nine.
"Enough to remind them why they were enemies."
And somewhere else entirely, the Deceiver watched the same data.
A slow smile appeared.
"Interesting."
Bastion had attempted to prove society could be broken by exposing its attachments.
Instead, those attachments had begun spreading.
New friendships.
New obligations.
New reasons not to fight.
The Deceiver leaned back.
"Creation remains annoyingly resistant to simple conclusions."
A pause.
Then the demon smiled wider.
"Good."
Because proving creation fundamentally flawed meant nothing if the experiment proving it was flawed too.
And now Bastion was about to make the most dangerous mistake an experimenter could make.
It had received an answer it disliked.
So it had decided to change the test.