The rain had stopped, but the pavement of the plaza was slick with water still.

  I stood over the four minions of Qolius. They were groaning, clutching their wounds where my bamboo spears had pinned them to the walls.

  "Grow."

  Four Heavenly Tomatoes sprouted instantly, swelling into ripe, red fruits that pulsed with vitality. I plucked them.

  "Eat," I ordered, tossing the fruits to the masked men.

  They hesitated, looking at their High Priest. Qolius, who was standing beside me with his hands clasped in newfound reverence, nodded frantically.

  "Partake!" Qolius hissed, his voice muffled by his smiling mask. "It is the sacrament of the new Lord!"

  The minions ate and the healing properties of the Grade 3 tomatoes worked instantly. The holes in their shoulders knit together and the color returned to their skin.

  I pointed to the largest minion—the one wearing the black mask who had unleashed the sonic attack.

  "You," I said. "Go to the edge of the plaza."

  The minion scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the square, facing the Eden camp.

  My army was still on the ground. Ten thousand men were writhing in the mud, clutching their heads, trapped in a psychic nightmare.

  "Wake them up," I commanded.

  The minion inhaled and his chest expanded to an impossible size, sucking in the air.

  "RELEASE!"

  The sound was not a shockwave this time. It was a frequency—a counter tone that shattered the air like glass.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  Ten thousand men gasped, their bodies arching as the psychic pressure vanished, followed by the sound of retching.

  Bells rolled onto his hands and knees and vomited into the mud. Frank collapsed onto his back, sobbing with relief.

  I walked back toward them.

  I stopped in front of the formation and waited for them to stand. It took a long time.

  "Status," I said calmly.

  Bells wiped his mouth and looked up at me. His eyes were hollow.

  "We are... alive," Bells rasped.

  "Cloud has surrendered," I announced. "They are now a vassal of Eden."

  I looked at the generals and soldiers. I expected anger. I expected them to ask why I was working with the monsters who had just tortured them.

  Instead, I got silence.

  No one cheered. But no one argued.

  They looked at me with terror and awe. I was the only one who hadn't fallen. The only one who had walked through the psychic storm untouched and brought the High Priest to his knees.

  I realized then that my reputation and authority had not only been restored but enhanced. My word was now absolute.

  "Dominion."

  The soil shifted and the massive fortifications I had grown sank back into the earth.

  In their place, I visualized something else.

  "Grow."

  A garden formed. A Botanical Garden. Heavenly Bamboo grew into elegant arches and Heavenly Moss carpeted the harsh concrete in soft gold while flowering vines climbed the monolithic statues of the faceless figures.

  It was a stamp and a permanent anchor.

  The relay point.

  "You and your crew are to remain here in Grand Rapids," I told Sal. "Repair all that was damaged and renovate all that remains."

  Sal shuddered.

  "Boss," Sal whispered, leaning in. "These guys... their vibes are bad. Real bad. You want us to stay here? With him?"

  He nodded toward Qolius.

  I placed a hand on Sal’s shoulder.

  "Look at him, Sal," I said softly.

  Qolius was watching me. When our eyes met, he bowed low.

  "I am immune to his power," I said to Sal. "That is why he serves me and he knows that if he touches a single hair on your head, I will return. And next time, I won't offer a hand."

  Sal looked at Qolius, then back at me and saw the logic. In the food chain of monsters, I was the apex.

  "Okay," Sal said, letting out a breath. "Okay. I'll get the crew to start repairs on the gate."

  "Good."

  I turned to the army.

  "First and Second Division," I ordered. "You are dismissed. Return to Southfield and take the fallen with you."

  "Give them proper burials," I said. "Their losses were not in vain. They helped us win the war ."

  The soldiers nodded and formed up, sluggish and traumatized, and began the long march back to Southfield.

  As Bells began to move I stopped him.

  Bells stood there, his armor mud-stained, his shoulders slumped.

  I walked up to him.

  "Bells," I said.

  Bells didn't look me in the eye. "Sir."

  "In three days," I said, "we have a meeting. Adan wants a rematch."

  Bells flinched.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "A duel," I continued. "All out. Friendly rules, no killing. But serious as he wants to see what we can do."

  "I..." Bells started, his voice cracking. "I can't fight, Kaz. Not right now. My head... it feels like broken glass."

  "I know," I said. "That is why I said in three days. Go to Ann Arbor and rest. Drink, sleep, recover. Get your head right."

  "You are no longer my sword, Bells," I said. "But you are still my general. Go get better."

  Bells nodded slowly.

  He took off, flying silently toward the east.

  I watched him go.

  I turned around.

  Qolius was waiting for me in the shadow of the Pink Star tower.

  "My Lord," Qolius said.

  "Walk with me," I said.

  We walked toward the tower.

  "Where are the people, Qolius?" I asked. "My intel says you have around three million subjects. I see soldiers and acolytes but no families."

  "The flesh is weak," Qolius said. "It requires... shelter."

  "Explain," I said.

  "Grand Rapids is the Holy City," Qolius said, pointing to the buildings. "It is a temple of war, faith, and restoration. No un-ascended souls live here. My flock... they reside in the twin cities."

  "Lansing and Kalamazoo," I guessed.

  "Yes," Qolius said. "They are cities of peace. Residential. Public. They toil, they live, they breed. Once a month, they come here to worship."

  I stopped walking.

  It was brilliant. Evil, but brilliant.

  He had decentralized the population to remove the burden of infrastructure from the capital, while centralizing the military power. He didn't have to worry about insurgents or riots in his capital because no one lived there except his most fanatical followers.

  "Smart," I admitted. "How many soldiers can you field?"

  "One million." Qolius said.

  I did the mental math.

  One million fanatics. They had no training, poor weapons, and no armor. Against White Hill’s army, they were cannon fodder.

  But fodder had a quality all its own.

  One million Cloud soldiers armed with Eden’s bamboo weaponry, fed on my stat-boosting regime, and supported by my Treants?

  That was an equalizer.

  "And the north?" I asked. "Black Hand."

  "Heretics," he spat. "They are weak and cling to old ways."

  "Strength?"

  "Thirty," Qolius said. "Their core strength is thirty cultivators. They are individually powerful, yes. But they are few. Their leader, Amoto..."

  Qolius hesitated.

  "Go on."

  "Amoto is... trouble," Qolius admitted. "He is a Beast Cultivator and leads the Wilds itself. He can command the Awakened monsters of the land. Bears, wolves, chimeras. Every time God brought us close to victory he was there to stop it."

  "But he is just one man," I noted.

  "Yes," Qolius agreed. "Just one man."

  We reached the base of the tower.

  I unhooked my Gourd of Holding.

  "I am leaving you supplies," I said. I dumped crates of Grade 3 Bamboo Armor and Swords onto the pavement. "Equip your elites. I will have food shipments sent soon."

  Qolius looked at the weapons, then bowed. "Cloud thanks you."

  "Don't thank me," I said. "Just be ready. When I call, you answer."

  "We live to serve," Qolius whispered.

  I didn't like or trust him but I owned him.

  "Teleport."

  I appeared in an alleyway in Ann Arbor.

  It was nighttime and the bustling trade hub had quieted down to a simmer. The shouts of merchants were replaced by low music from restaurants and distant sounds of generators.

  I walked out onto Main Street.

  I needed a bed. I had fought a war, renovated a city, and teleported nonstop for a week.

  I scanned the street. There were plenty of hostels and boarding houses with most of them looking like they were infested with lice.

  Then, I saw something interesting.

  A five story building of brick and glass. It looked out of place as it was pristine and maintained.

  Glowing in yellow neon above the entrance was a logo I knew intimately.

  BECKENFEIN.

  I stopped in the middle of the street.

  I thought the Beckenfein empire lost all their holdings this deep in the Wilds. Did Wolfen take them back?

  "Impossible," I muttered. "He's been in charge for a week. He couldn't have secured a perimeter this far out."

  I walked toward the hotel.

  The lobby was opulent. Real carpet. Chandeliers that ran on actual electricity. Lavender smell.

  I walked up to the reception desk.

  The receptionist was a woman in her twenties who was chewing gum. Her nametag read MARY. She was reading a magazine titled Guns & Gardens.

  I raised a hand.

  "Float," I commanded.

  Five bamboo spears materialized from my soil patch in the lobby. They hovered in the air, aiming directly at Mary’s head.

  Nothing happened.

  The bellhop in the corner kept polishing a luggage cart and a guest reading a newspaper didn't look up.

  Mary popped a bubble of gum.

  "How many stones do you want?" she asked. "Today was a slow day."

  I blinked. The spears wavered.

  "I..." I stammered, my momentum crashing against the wall of her compliance. "I want information."

  "No, I do not know where the slave market is," Mary said, finally looking up.

  "What? No, I don't want to know where the slave market is. I have questions," I said, leaning on the desk. "About Wolfen."

  Mary stared at me. "What the fuck is a Wolfen?"

  "Don't play dumb," I snapped. "Wolfen Beckenfein. The new head of the Holdings. This is a Beckenfein hotel."

  "Look, pal," Mary said, closing her magazine. "I don't know who you are, but you're confused. This hasn’t been a Beckenfein hotel since the collapse."

  "The sign," I pointed outside.

  "Old sign," Mary shrugged. "Too expensive to take down. This place belongs to the Mapi Harvest Fleet."

  I froze. "The what?"

  "Mapi Harvest Fleet," Mary repeated slowly, as if talking to a child. " Nomadic cultivators. Big convoys. They control the trade routes between the neutral cities and took this place over months ago."

  "Harvest Fleet," I whispered.

  I had never heard the name.

  "There are three of them," Mary offered, seeing my confusion. "They operate outside the control of Cloud and Black Hand. They move goods, people, and own the roads. You want to travel safe in the Wilds? You pay the Fleet."

  "Interesting," I said. "Another variable."

  "Is that all?" Mary asked, reaching for a key card. "Or do you want to threaten me with vegetables again?"

  "Is there anything else I should know?" I asked. "Who else is out here?"

  Mary sighed. "Depends on where you go. There are Warlords. Tyrants. Independents who control small cities. The ones left out here? They're the ones too strong for the Factions or the Fleets to kill. Everyone else is dead."

  "Alright, uh," I said. "Give me your best room."

  She dangled the key.

  "250 stones."

  I reached into my Gourd. I wasn't going to use my card here.

  I pulled out a handful of glowing crystals and slid them across the marble counter.

  Mary swiped them into a drawer without counting.

  "Room 501. Top floor. End of the hall. Don't smoke inside, the sprinklers dispense acid."

  I took the key.

  "Thanks, Mary."

  I walked to the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. The hallway was quiet and lined with plush carpet.

  I entered Room 501.

  It was luxurious. A king sized bed, a view of the Ann Arbor skyline, a bathroom with a tub. It was nothing compared to the hotels in Detroit, but for the Wilds? It was a palace.

  I sat on the edge of the bed.

  The Beckenfein logo was stitched into the pillows. A ghost of an empire that had receded.

  "Grace," I said to the empty room.

  I had promised to win her hotels back and restore her legacy.

  But I failed and now her legacy is parted between scavengers, nomads and her brother.

  I was weak then but now…

  "One war at a time," I muttered.

  I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  It had been the longest week of my life.

  My body was heavy and my mind was numb.

  I checked my phone.

  A smile touched my lips as my eyes closed.

  "Tomorrow is a great day," I whispered to the darkness.

  "The peace treaty with White Hill expires."

  I thought of Axehill sitting in his fortress, eating my tomatoes.

  "No more free lunch, Axehill."

  I fell asleep.