The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 426: Don’t say God

Blake shivered as he was forced from Carl's mind. He was in his consciousness for the final seconds—he felt the moment the system interfered, somehow wiping everything clean like a disinfected countertop. Blake's perception tumbled out with not the slightest chance to resist, a fly swatted from the corpse of Carl's dying brain.

The final trumpet blared. Fake applause roared in Blake's ears as thousands of fake people clapped from the fake arena. He only had enough time to find a smiling Seul-ki and a barely rising Annie before the world started to fade.

[Title gained: Arena Team Champion. +2 to primary statistic]

Blake sighed and allowed himself a satisfied grin. Carl would be…shaken, after the temporary mental destruction, and Mason would be angry. But that was partially the point.

Blake intended to make sure Phuong and whatever other 'officers' Mason gained maintained a healthy level of terror of him. Maybe then they'd hesitate in slaughtering any of the non-humans Blake intended to protect and employ.

And the easterners were supposed to think Blake and Mason were at odds. For his many strengths, Mason wasn't much of an actor. He needed to be genuinely angry to convince the emperor's people some sort of rift could be made between the brothers. Screwing with Carl's brain had really killed two birds with one stone. Or three, if you counted winning the tournament. Which Blake definitely did.

His vision faded totally to black, and he expected to blink and see the Neutral Zone again, both his ally players ready to cheer and celebrate their victory.

Instead the darkness lingered. And lingered. Blake blinked again and again, eventually trying his limbs in the total blackness, feeling like he could move but with no idea 'where' he was. Or if he was. Had the system somehow screwed up his teleport?

"Boring, isn't it? The universe.”n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

A confident, almost melodic male voice was all that existed. It echoed like it spoke in some old cathedral, a kind of power reverberating in its tone. Blake felt his heart speed up, his mouth went dry.

“This is mostly what it is,” continued the voice. “Nothingness stretched and rolled on forever, and ever, and ever..."

"If this is the universe," Blake said, licking his lips. "Where are the stars?"

"Oh they're rare enough. In the grand scheme of things. But…as you wish."

Blake shielded his face as star-light flipped on like a lamp, surrounding him in every direction with tiny dots of multi-colored beauty. He looked down at himself floating in space, somehow able to breathe and...you know, not die.

"Who are you? Where are you?" he asked.

"In our office," said the voice, sounding amused. "Tell us, why did you give up rulership of your little settlement? Why would you ever give up power? Did you fear your own 'brother'? The small number of players you commanded?"

Blake blinked, trying to sharpen his wits. Whatever this was, it clearly wasn't an accident. It was therefore one of the system's tests, some kind of 'god' or potential system patron as Mason had described.

Blake sensed the opportunity and tried not to salivate or seem too eager. To pass a test with potential patron meant figuring out what the thing wanted, which might be easier said than done. But Blake had always been very good at passing tests.

"Short term pain for long term gain," he said with a shrug, as if it was obvious.

"Explain," said the voice, with far less amusement.

OK, Blake decided. Confident good, arrogant bad. You have to explain yourself without insulting this thing's intelligence. Assume it has considered every possibility and wants to know which is correct.

"I can't be everywhere," Blake said. "My brother was happy to manage the players and settlement. But only I could begin my work with the other humanoids. Eventually we'll converge and be more powerful."

"You mean the House of Mason will be more powerful,” echoed the voice.

"No." Blake shook his head. "Well. Yes. But that serves me. My brother is a loyal ally, powerful, with no ambition. Soon I'll make my own house, and with every race permitted I expect it to grow beyond any current human house. Though they'll be welcome, too. Mason will kill this emperor eventually. When he dies I'll take his casters, the thinkers, anyone I think matters in the long term."

"To what end?" said the voice, tone more neutral now.

For a moment Blake had no idea what to say. It was the pivotal question, of course, and the real answer was something like 'to beat roboGod'. But he was pretty sure these system 'gods' weren't exactly in on the game. They were more like super-powered elves or orcs—part of the world-building, unable to see beyond the fourth wall.

Probably.

"You should know," said the voice, with an almost amused warning. "We will know if you lie."

A lie, Blake decided. And an almost transparent one—as if it amused the thing to play some kind of game they both understood. Blake took a breath.

"To keep every option open," he said finally. "To shape reality on any given day, to change the world how I choose, even if no one understands. To make the whole world dance to my tune, even if only I can hear the music."

The voice said nothing for a time. Then it laughed with a thousand voices and something slapped like clapping hands. Bright lights flared and formed strange, incoherent shapes that tickled at Blake's mind, as if they might mean something but he couldn't figure out what.

"Good," said the voice. "Very good. You've amused us, Blake Nimitz. We think you'll go on amusing us. We can offer no higher praise. Ask your questions now before we grow bored."

It hadn't answered the question of who it was, but Blake knew asking again would be a mistake. What was all this 'we' about? He had to think. If the Swede from the Arcane Order was correct, it would be associated with one of the affinities, and somehow associated with 'order or chaos'.

Of course it was entirely possible the man was wrong. But at least the affinity association seemed clear.

And it seemed more likely that 'gods' from your affinity would be more likely to show interest. Blake had two: Arcane, and Psionic. So which was this thing? The....location of their meeting likely mattered. Blake wasn't at all sure he was physically here at all, which made him think this was all in his mind, and might indicate it was psionic.

On the other hand, it seemed entirely possible an arcane god could either use mental magic or else transport him to some kind of alternate plane that seemed like the same damn thing. By the thing's...capricious seeming words, Blake would have guessed it fell more towards the 'chaos' side than the 'order'. If that was even correct.

I just don't know enough, he thought, knowing he had to answer. He decided humility was best.

"I don't know your name," he said. "But my guess is you're a god of psionic magic."

"Don't say 'god'," the voice said with disgust. "'Gods' think they're eternal. We know nothing is eternal. And don't say 'psionic magic'. This is an absurdity. A contradiction in terms. Psionics are entirely different than magic, which uses a second-order, lesser, manipulated form of energy. We don't use parlor tricks. We don't use stencils to draw our shapes. We use the energy as it is. In its purest form."

"You keep saying we." Blake licked his lips. "Who do you mean?"

"Don't bore us, little maker. Don't ever bore us. We are the wise and privileged few who wield energy in its purest form. We are they who can shape time, and space, and thought."

"What do you want from me? Why am I here? And why did you call me a 'little maker'?"

"So many questions. Are you not a maker of things? As to what we want...we haven't decided," said the voice, almost petulantly. "But the others are collecting toys and we don't have any. Gambling is more fun when you have a stake. Are you going to play to win against the horned god's toy?"

Blake blinked as his mind raced.

"I'm not going to try and beat Mason in the tournament, if that's what you mean."

"Of course it is," the voice snapped, then sighed. "Then we're not sure we do want anything from you, little maker. You'll only fail like all the others. We don't play games we cannot win."

Blake grit his teeth as he felt the power around him starting to move, starting to leave.

"Wait," he called, activating Mental Influence to try and get some better idea of where the thing was or what it was doing. His vision flared with possibility as he did—a swirling maelstrom of minds that looked somewhere between jellyfish and Japanese dragons, flying in loops and whorls around him. "I've told you. He's my ally. Fighting him doesn't serve me. I want to win in the end. Not every step along the way."

"That sounds terribly tedious." The voice yawned. Then hardened. "And like a lie. We think you're just afraid. Afraid because you know you'll lose. Goodbye, little maker. Thank you for the amusement. Even if it was very brief."

"Wait!" Blake felt something like panic as the energy swirled and drifted further away. Would he get another chance if he lost this one? Would another god be more sympathetic to his thinking, more interested in his plans? And how the hell did he attract their attention in the first place?

For all his confusion and questions, he knew he wouldn't be getting answers. The Neutral Zone returned just as he'd expected, almost dull now compared to the swirling lights of whatever the hell that was. Seul-ki and Annie were both smiling and lifting glasses filled with champagne.

"What took you so long?" Annie stuck out her tongue as she twisted the cork, clearly struggling to find just the right amount of strength to use.

Blake put on his usual mask of confidence, but the experience with the ‘god’ had deeply disturbed him. He tried and failed to come up with some kind of amusing joke before he watched the text swirl into his profile.

[New Objective: Defeat Mason Nimitz in the arena. Reward: Divine Patronage.]

He stared and felt the words dry on his tongue, a swirling cocktail of emotion rippling through him.

"Blake? Are you alright?" Seul-ki put down her glass and came forward, her exotic eyes full of concern. "You look pale."

Blake fought a moment of dizziness as he sat down, feeling almost numb as he tried to imagine doing what the thing was asking. Fight Mason for real? Try to kill him in the arena?

The 'god' was right. The thought was terrifying. Blake and Mason had always got along so well partially because they didn't compete. They had different talents, different strengths and weaknesses, different interests. Even different taste in women. Nothing had ever put them at cross-purposes for long.

Or was that just something Blake told himself? A kind of cope for always putting himself above Mason's interests, assuming he'd always come along?

He clenched a fist, angry that all it took for him to question his relationship with his brother was some damn super-carrot dangled by the system. He took a breath and pat Seul-ki's hand.

"I'm alright," he said, giving her a smile.

But he didn't need the cunning Korean's piercing stare, or a psionic god to question him. As he heard the words out loud, Blake didn't even believe himself.