Chapter 74
---
"Go fuck yourself, Comrade Stalin."
The words came out on their own, before I'd even had time to think. Well, what did he expect? I was trying to wrap my head around antigravity theory, my skull ready to split from the bone-grinding formulas and mathematical methods for calculating the curvature coefficient of space under increasing force intensity—I hadn't even jumped to Kamar-Taj, I'd planted myself right in the University Library with my textbooks. And then he walked in. Personally. In the flesh. Honored me with a visit, if you can believe it.
Telling me, "Your vacation is over, Comrade Creed. Time to get back in the harness. Comrade Li can't manage alone, and Comrade Rasputin is having trouble with the administrative side."
So I answered. And a ringing silence settled over the room so complete you could hear a fly crawling across the window. He hadn't come alone, naturally—he had his security detail, his entourage. The University Rector had tagged along as the welcoming party, sweating through his shirt with terror. I genuinely thought the man was going to have a heart attack right there on the spot.
Natasha peeked out from behind the nearest bookshelf, her eyes wide as plates.
"Everyone out," Stalin said into the air after a rather lengthy silence. "Leave us."
He didn't have to say it twice. Everyone except the bodyguards practically ran for the exit. The bodyguards didn't want to leave. But when the Boss turned to look at them—really look at them—they went too, heads down. And Stalin, waiting for the door to close behind them, pulled over a chair and sat down across from me at my table, looking at me without a word.
"I submitted my resignation, didn't I? So what else do you want from me? My decision hasn't changed," I sighed.
"What about two weeks' notice?" He smirked.
"I'm not dropping out of school," I said, frowning.
"Nobody's asking you to. You could always transfer to evening classes."
"Iosif Vissarionovich." I set my textbook aside entirely. "What did you tell me ten years ago? 'Comrade Creed, we need your help—take responsibility for my mistake, don't let the Gift for Mankind become a Hell on Earth.' That's how it went, wasn't it?"
"More or less," he replied softly. Over the years that had passed, his accent had faded entirely. He now spoke Russian without a trace of it. The softness in his voice, though, had never gone anywhere.
"I came. I took on the 'responsibility.' I worked for ten years with complete honesty and full dedication—built the system, found the people, fine-tuned how it all ran, raised the Generation. Hell on Earth did not open up. That's it. My conscience is clear, I've fulfilled my obligations. Whatever comes next happens without me. I'm not a communist and I never was. I'm a selfish capitalist with a stake in the largest Corporation in the world. What more do you want from me?"
He smiled gently, pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch, and began slowly packing it. Those preparations made it clear to me that this was going to be a long conversation.
"You see, Viktor Ivanovich," he began after a while. "You're not selfish. You're a tyrant and a dictator."
"Says the Tyrant and Dictator," I couldn't help cutting in.
"That's true," he agreed, not the least bit offended, even nodding to confirm it. "Only a firm hand can steer the ship. But therein lies the problem with any dictatorship—the moment the dictator disappears, everything falls apart. If I were to abandon the Union, how long would it last?"
"About forty years," I shrugged.
"That's a very optimistic forecast, Viktor Ivanovich." The Boss almost smiled. "Very."
"And your point is?" I broke the silence that hung after that *very*. Iosif Vissarionovich was in no rush to break it himself—he was packing his pipe. Slowly, methodically.
"My point is that your Federation was built around you. By your hand, your reputation, your authority, and your heavy fist. It isn't the Martial Arts Federation of the Soviet Union—it's the Martial Arts Federation of Viktor Creed," he said, finishing with the pipe and starting to light it. "Just as I'm accused of having my own personality idolized, so too does a Cult of Personality flourish in your Federation. Your personality. Order was maintained by your personal invincibility, your total supremacy over every Master, Instructor, and Senior Student. Your Word in the Federation is Law, and it will be followed. And anyone who didn't understand that…" He paused. "Viktor Creed paid them a visit and drove the understanding home along with their teeth. Do you remember the Odessa Uprising in seventy-seven? The Rostov youth gang problem in seventy-nine? How long did it take you to 'bring those troublemakers into line?' A day? Two? Whereas Zhukov spent months dealing with that same Odessa situation back in his time—used troops, drowned it in blood. But you, without a shred of doubt, the moment you heard about it, went straight from training, took your three senior groups, commandeered a military airfield, loaded onto the Ilyushins, and a few hours later were dropping onto the Odessans' heads from ultra-low altitude. What did you call it afterward? An 'off-site seminar?'"
"A tactical training exercise," I corrected him. "The off-site seminar was in Cairo."
"Of course, how could I forget?" He puffed his pipe. "An excursion bus full of Oktyabryata, taken hostage by local terrorists… Egypt shook. For a month the locals were afraid to step outside. An entire sovereign nation brought under complete, total control. And never mind the screams from the international community. 'These are the Federation's internal affairs. An off-site seminar. No politics—we're simply training.' Is that what you told the journalists? And they swallowed it—every last one of them wiped their mouths and kept quiet. And now Egypt has a Federation Branch. What's more, the Cairenes organized it themselves and then begged to be taken under the wing of the central Federation." He paused. "Now, who could pull something like that off? Li? Rasputin? Can you honestly say that with a straight face?"
The Boss went quiet and drew on his pipe. Then he slowly exhaled the smoke, still silent. I kept quiet too.
After about five minutes and three more draws, he finally continued.
"And then today. A new legend is born: 'How Stalin Was Told to Go Fuck Himself in Public, and Stalin Wiped His Mouth and Moved On.' And move on he will—he'll have to. A new peak, though it seemed impossible to elevate your reputation any higher."
We sat in silence again. If he was waiting for an apology, he'd be waiting forever—I don't take my words back. I don't speak often. But when I do, I stand behind what I say.
"The Federation is on the verge of complete collapse. The Masters you personally recruited are already leaving. They're not willing to submit to Li the way they submitted to you. Senior students haven't shown up for their certification reviews for two years now. They say a Master's Belt Certificate without your signature is a worthless piece of paper. Foreign delegations aren't traveling to seminars where you won't be present. The situation barely held together while you were officially on 'leave' and Li was acting in your place—but that worked for one month. With difficulty, it stretched to one year. Now, a year and a half in, even the most naïve people are starting to understand that no one accumulates that many vacation days in ten years."
Another long silence followed.
"I'm not dropping out of school," I told him stubbornly, my mood darkening.
"Then don't," he shrugged. "Just show your face at the Federation from time to time. Run the certification review, hold a seminar or two, then disappear again. Stay on as the nominal Head, at least. That will be enough. The day-to-day operations can be handled without you. But if you don't come back, there won't be a Federation to come back to. It'll fall apart within the next month. Li has tried to reach you but couldn't track you down."
Ten minutes of silence passed before my answer came.
"I'll think about it."
Stalin nodded, rose from his chair, and walked toward the exit. I put him out of my mind, pulled my books back toward me, and sank back into the theory of antigravity, gravitons, and antigravitons.
But I couldn't get back into it.
That mustachioed snake always knows how to find the tender strings in my soul and pluck them. He'd pressed on the sore spot again—responsibility.
The Federation. *Damn.* I don't want it to fall apart. I put too much work into building it. I poured my soul into that thing. But going back to the old rhythm of life… I like how I'm living now. I like handling my own affairs and not being accountable to anyone. Just living and telling the world to go to hell. But the Federation…
And Iosif is right: too much of it was tied to me personally. Those Masters he mentioned—they came to the Union specifically because I asked them to. Every cooperation agreement with foreign Federations and family Schools was negotiated by me. With me personally. So it was no surprise they had no interest in making the trip in my absence.
A smell pulled me out of my grim thoughts. A smell that had no business being here. That *couldn't* be here.
Blood.
Blood in the library? I frowned and sniffed again, wondering if I was imagining it. I wasn't. Blood. Fresh blood. And not far away at all.
I set the book down again and got to my feet. Pushed back the chair and followed the smell.
"*Damn,*" I breathed through clenched teeth.
Around the corner I'd just turned, directly in front of a door, lay a body. A spreading pool of blood had formed beneath it. Beside the body, resting on its side, was a head—eyes open—with a pipe that had fallen from between its teeth when it struck the floor.
The body and head of Stalin.
And lying right at my feet was a bloody cleaver. My cleaver. The cleaver that dozens of people had seen in my hands during training sessions, when I demonstrated and explained the fundamentals of weapons work.
And in keeping with the laws of dramatic timing, it was at exactly that moment that the door opened—the one where the Boss's bodyguards and entourage had been waiting.
"*Damn,*" I breathed again.
---
***
If You Like The Story Drop a Review
~Read Advanced Chapters on: p@treon/Amiii_
~Every 150 PS = Bonus Chapter!
~Push the Story forward with your [Power Stones]