Chapter 76: Harsh Lessons

Chapter 76: Harsh Lessons

James flew out over the ocean, his speed slow, his thoughts in turmoil. She was fucking with him. This was a test, a trap. There was no way shed come through with any promise. But then again, shed sworn to give him proof hed find convincing. Hed no idea what that could be, but say she came through, convinced him.

Would it be the right move? To sacrifice Crimson Hydra for the seven or so million shed predicted would die?

James scowled. Why was he believing anything she said? She was the enemy. She was only here to bring death and ruin to them all.

But then again, the demons, the system, it could have wiped them off the face of the earth on Day 1. All theyd have had to have done was drop the Fourth Wave of Nem3s instead of the First Wave of Nem1s, and everything would have collapsed in fire and ruin.

So there was an ulterior purpose here. Hed discussed it before: a sense that the system was preparing them, educating them, helping humanity get ready for the real war that was to come. And if that was the case, maybe the Monitor wasnt just trying to screw with him. Or not just screw with him but offer benefits.

Then why not ask that he also kill himself? Offer Brooklyn in exchange for his suicide, or something like that?

But fuck it, the details didnt matter. What it all came down to was whether he should play ball. Because yes, obviously, the lives of nine people werent more important than those of eight million. Shed been right: everyone on Crimson Hydra was willing to risk their lives over and over again to save thousands.

James cruised slowly, gazing out over the Atlantic, not seeing the endless waves, the distant horizon turning dark as evening fell.

It was morally repugnant, the thought of killing everyone in Group 1 to save the city. But was it the right thing to do?

James blew out his cheeks. No.

The answer was stark and clear and certain.

No, it was not the right thing to do.

But he couldnt explain why, not even to himself.

He thought of Bjrn, hirsute and suave, elegant and forceful. Bjrn would take the deal without hesitation. As long as Bjrn himself didnt have to die.

There was a clue in there as to why it was the wrong choice. It wasnt that the lives of Crimson Hydra or Blue Light were inherently worth more than the millions of Fabricators - though perhaps an argument could be made that saving NYC in the short term would doom it if they lost all their fighters in the long term - but rather that the principle of the thing was wrong.

James allowed the Angel Wing to slow to a stop. Looked down and ran his thumb over the ivory and gold of the craft. Felt its smooth, untarnished surface. So pure, so radiant, so glorious.

He felt old and worn sitting on its glory.The debut release of this chapter happened at Ñøv€l-B1n.

If he were to start making such deals with the demons, would he be worthy of sitting on such a craft?

Or, more accurately, would their species? Should they entrust all leadership to the likes of Bjrn, for whom the ends always justified the means, no matter what?

Or would they lose something precious, irreplaceable in doing so?

Was that what the Monitor was after? Why she was willing to make this deal? To corrupt humanity, to get its most advanced fighters to break, morally, and lose something they could never get back?

A new thought occurred to him: what if later powers on their character sheets could only be earned by the righteous? These three miracles theyd never heard mention of?

By why him? Why make him this offer? Simply because he was the most advanced in the region? Were similar offers being made to men and women in Shanghai, Mumbai, London?

James inhaled raggedly.

The Monitor was not his ally, not even covertly. Whatever it offered him, it was to his ultimate disadvantage. There were thorns hidden in the depths of this bargain that he couldnt yet anticipate.

And moreover, what would happen to the eight million folks who were spared when the Pits opened? With no demons attacking them, theyd be deprived of the chance to level. With Blue Light gone -

And oh shit. Would effect would that have on the nation? Forget the 8 million in New York. What would people in Miami, Houston, Chicago, and LA think if they watched James slaughter a thousand operators to safeguard his city? The Blue Light movement would collapse. National morale would shatter. The army would have to go it alone, and hed go from being some twisted symbol of hope to a hated symbol of greed and horror.

Almost he could hear Jessica laughing at him from the depths of the distant symbol.

He spat over the side of the Angel Wing and aimed it toward home, picking up some speed but not enough to tax its reserves.

Fuck the Monitor. And screw his own short sightedness. It had taken him this long to figure out what a terrible deal that was.

No.

Better for humanity to undergo this trial by fire and emerge stronger and more resilient, even if it meant millions dying.

Because millions were nothing compared to the whole species going extinct.

James shuddered. The math was horrific, the acceptance on his part bordering on sociopathic, but he couldnt deny the truth of it. Better that most of humanity died so that the species could ultimately win through then to safeguard the bulk of it and have everyone die altogether.

Question was: should he share the offer with Hackworth and the others? James tried to imagine the chaos this would plunge Blue Light into. Of course thered be universal rejection over their being sacrificed, but what if work got out to the people in the city? Might they not turn against Blue Light in turn? Demand their sacrifice?

The kid raised the gun and aimed it right at Jamess face. Fuck me?

James hobbled forward, hands still raised, his fury turning ugly. Moved right up to the gun and leaned into it so that the barrel pressed against his brow. Fuck you.

The kid wavered, then laughed, the sound high pitched, and stepped back. Oh man, youre a hoot. Youre crazy, grandpa. Get the fuck out of here. And he lunged forward and slammed the pistol butt into Jamess brow.

James tried to block, but he was too slow. Agility fucking 5. The gun cracked against his brow and he went down.

He lay there for a second, blinking away the dizziness, and heard the kid walking away, laughing.

After a moment he sat up, undid his belt, and looped it around his leg. The kid was gone. A couple walked toward their car, paused at the sight of him, then hurried into their Mercedes, locked the doors, and drove away.

James cinched the belt tight, but there was no hole for the buckle tongue. He was out of Aeviternum, so no healing.

Frustration suffused him. What an idiot. What had he been thinking?

Hissing against the pain, he slowly rose to his feet and hopped over to the Wing. Sat gingerly on it, lifted his leg over, and willed it to rise.

It did so.

His best bet was to just fly back to the Marriott. Hed be there in twenty or so minutes.

The Wing gained altitude, cleared the rooftops, then soared south-west.

The beautiful little town rolled by below, gave way to thick woodland pocked with open pockets in which ridiculously huge mansions sat, complete with guest houses and swimming pools. Those eventually gave way to a golf course, then endless suburbs, large homes in old neighborhoods. He flew over a highway, and the buildings below became more middleclass. His thoughts were in a fog, and hed almost reached the far coastline of Long Island before realizing he had to turn.

He found a highway and followed it west. His pant leg was red and soaking now, the tourniquet not doing shit. The pain was intense, but he could handle pain.

What he was having trouble with was humanitys fucking stupidity. Its sordid pettiness. How even now people were willing to act like animals.

And him? An idiot. Walking up on a guy with a gun. Hed never have done that before. Too much time spent ashing demons had given him a sense of invulnerability.

What had his Iron Aura done for him?

Nothing.

His Sacred Strike would have healed the guy.

His Heavenly Assault would have maybe surprised the man, little more.

Speed 8 and Agility 5 meant he was still slow as fuck compared to a trigger finger. If hed managed to throw a punch, his Power 12 and Strength 15 would have decked the guy, but who was he kidding?

He wasnt decking anyone with Agility 5.

Idiot.

Star Boys praise for the Aureate Buckler came to mind: Useful against shitty humans.

Manhattans towers came into view, and he curved toward the south, cutting through Queens and into Brooklyn.

He felt tired, worn out. A lot of that was blood loss, but the wound wasnt too bad. Small caliber. Neat little hole. More the shock of it. The rage. The sense of frustration and futility.

James felt like a fool. One second hed been debating the fate of millions, thinking himself this ultimate arbiter, the next he was nearly killed by a rich dipshit with a cracker-jack gun plated all in chrome.

Still. There was no way he was going to fly past and not try and help.

Hopefully that woman would steer clear of those two moving forward. He doubted shed report them to the cops.

Downtown Brooklyn hove into view. He arrowed in on the Marriott, descended past rooftop level, and eased around the back of the hotel to descend into the parking lot.

Only to slow at the sight that greeted him.

Hundreds, no, maybe even a thousand people were slowly making their way down the ramp, most on their phones, moving with wary patience and determination.

A voice echoed from deep within through a megaphone: Keep moving please! Battle Engineers on the left! Structuralists and Domestics one more floor down! War Smiths on the right!

Jessicas voice.

And James hated how the sound of it made him tense up with suspicion and anger.