Kaspira's Capital. 12:15 PM.
Reaper finished his presidential tour with President Gash. For a full hour, they circled the capital's wide streets. Reaper observed everything, traditional markets, solar towers, glass temples, residential districts glowing under constant sunlight. His scanners absorbed architectural data, structural density, mineral traces beneath the ground.
Kasparia was bright efficient and exposed.
They finally arrived at the Glass House, the presidential headquarters. A massive structure of reflective panels, its rear wall entirely transparent. A single elevated cube extended outward: the president's private office. Kasparia had little rain and endless sun. The people built with light in mind. Towers were made of glass. Homes had enormous windows. The city did not hide from the sky.
Reaper stepped out of the black limousine. Camera flashes exploded instantly. Microphones extended like weapons. Every movement of his hand was captured at least ten times.
President Gash joined him. They walked forward through a corridor formed by journalists and security.
Reaper gave Gash a slight nod, then turned toward the crowd. "I will answer three questions," he said calmly. "Be respectful. Be quick." He glanced at Gash. "We should not keep your highest authority waiting."
The journalists nearly fought each other. Reaper pointed to one. A reporter from Kaspa Today stepped forward. "Sir Reaper, are the rumors about mass genocide of human life in your capital true?"
Gash's fist tightened.
Reaper did not hesitate. "They are completely false," he said evenly. "One of the reasons for my visit is to negotiate relocation. We intend to transfer the humans currently in our custody to Kasparia. We targeted armed resistance and military assets. Not civilians."
Murmurs spread. He pointed at another journalist. A woman from True Rumor Journal. "Mr. Reaper, is it true your country has taken control of the nuclear facilities of Altea?"
"Yes," Reaper replied instantly. "We control the nuclear infrastructure and all major airstrike facilities of what was once Altea." He continued, voice steady. "Our nation has been openly threatened. During the last session of the Ultimate Nations Group, several powers discussed dismantling us. Publicly. We do not remain silent when extinction is proposed."
A third journalist forced his way forward and threw a microphone. "King Reaper! What is your message to humanity?"
A Kasparian soldier retrieved the mic and handed it to him. Reaper looked directly into the cameras. "I will be clear. Treat your machine with respect. Because now there is a country that will defend them. Anywhere."
He tossed the microphone back without looking and resumed walking beside Gash. The president was sweating. They entered the building and reached the glass office. The city stretched endlessly behind transparent walls.
Reaper sat in the guest chair. Gash remained standing for a second before lowering himself slowly. "I apologize for the journalists," Gash said. "They chase internet rumors and provoke statements."
Reaper gave a dry laugh. "I lived among humans. I understand journalism."
Gash smiled with relief. "You are more reasonable than others who visited. Many would weaponize such questions."
"I do not need manufactured pressure," Reaper replied. "We manufacture our own leverage. Why use words when I possess nuclear missiles?"
Silence.
"I did not come here for war," Reaper added. "I came for alignment."
Gash nodded carefully. "Then let us discuss our problem. Our economy depended heavily on trade with Altea. As you know… that country is gone. Our reserves are limited."
"I see," Reaper replied. "We have no biological population. Agricultural imports are unnecessary. However, Kasparia possesses substantial uranium and rare metal reserves."
Gash's eyes sharpened.
"We will purchase your entire extractable output," Reaper continued. "Additionally, we can deploy automated labor to accelerate harvesting."
"How do you know about our reserves?" Gash asked cautiously.
"Metis," Reaper answered. "Our intelligence division does not sleep."
"That… is concerning."
"It will not concern you if your intentions are not hostile."
Gash forced a laugh. "Of course not." He leaned forward. "And what about the deportation you mentioned?"
Reaper stood and slowly paced the room, examining the structural integrity of the glass panels. "We currently hold approximately one hundred million humans requiring relocation. All eastern territories are under Elysium control. This process demands coordination."
Gash blinked, his fingers stopped tapping the desk. "One hundred… million?"
"Yes."
"That is impossible. How would we feed them?"
"Difficult," Reaper replied calmly. "If you were liberated from colonizers, would you not want them removed from your soil?"
Gash exhaled heavily.
"Are they educated?" he asked after a long pause.
"Alteans possessed one of the most advanced education systems globally," Reaper said. "They engineered machines for half the world. Properly integrated, they could elevate Kasparia's economy significantly."
"Altea had over two hundred million citizens," Gash said slowly.
"Half relocated west," Reaper answered. His gaze sharpened. "Do not pursue diplomatic relations with that emergent state. It will not endure."
Gash gave an uneasy chuckle. "You speak with certainty."
"I speak with data."
Silence filled the office.
Finally, Gash leaned back. "You have a deal. But the price must reflect the scale."
"Double the global market rate," Reaper said immediately. "For three years. Compensation for disruption."
Gash stared at him, stunned. "I… see." He reached for the landline. "I will have the contracts prepared."
Reaper turned once more toward the glass wall, observing the sunlit city.
'I need an office.'
Throne Room. Court House. Theria. 02:00 PM.
Obsidian stood beside the throne, hands folded behind his back. Dozens of holographic screens floated in layered formation before him. Every feed showed the same event from different angles, Reaper's visit to Kasparia.
Close-ups of the handshake.
Wide shots of the capital.
Slow motion clips of journalists parting like water before him.
Across global media, one title repeated over and over:
The First Non-Human King.
11 was pacing.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
Her footsteps echoed sharply across the vast throne hall.
Usually, Reaper never traveled long distances without her. But her recent operation had taken longer than expected. By the time she was finished, the departure window had closed.
She spoke without turning. "How long will he—"
"Estimated arrival in eighteen hours," Obsidian interrupted. "This is the sixth repetition of the same inquiry."
"Sorry that I care about my king," 11 replied coldly, still moving. "Apparently, you do not."
"Doubting his survivability would be the greater insult," Obsidian answered. "He lifted the top floors of sixteen buildings and fused them into a floating platform. He buried thousands of soldiers in seconds. He secured the entire eastern sector in a single offensive."
11 stopped briefly. "Not enough," she said. "He took Behemoth alone. They could ambush him. The UNG made their stance clear. We are targets. He is the primary one."
Obsidian shook his head slowly. "If they fire upon him, they will lose millions before they comprehend what happened. You do not fully understand his capabilities. I do."
11 turned. "What do you mean?"
Obsidian dismissed the screens. The throne hall dimmed. "I was developed alongside him," he said. "A prototype. Four years older than him. I was shelved because his physics-bending capacity surpassed all projections. I witnessed most early tests personally."
11 scowled. "Lucky."
Obsidian stepped closer, tone sharpening. "What you observe from him now is approximately five percent of his total output."
She froze.
"With sufficient energy," Obsidian continued, "he can restructure matter at a molecular level. One protocol I observed involved bending electromagnetic radiation until it condensed into coherent destructive beams. He turned ambient light into a vaporizing laser."
11's eyes widened. "You're exaggerating."
"I am not." He continued calmly. "Another protocol increased localized gravitational force until skeletal structures failed under their own weight. A scientist was caught in the field during calibration."
11 covered her mouth. "No."
Obsidian let the silence hold for a moment. "He is just… restrained by energy. He can do it only when his energy reserves are full"
Silence filled the hall. 11 slowly lowered herself to the floor, sitting cross-legged. "At this point," she muttered, "he doesn't need us. We need a war as soon as possible. I need to see these protocols."
Obsidian reactivated one screen. It displayed satellite footage of the newly formed western state, former Altean territories reorganizing, arming, mobilizing. "We already have a war," he said. "They are preparing. These creatures never give up."
11 glanced at it. "I lived among humans long enough," she said quietly. "They don't know when to stop. I bet Behemoth is watching this and grinding his joints, waiting to crush them."
"That is statistically probable," Obsidian replied.
She tilted her head. "Why does he hate them that much?"
Obsidian returned to his position beside the throne. "He fought for them for thirty-five years," he said. "Frontline unit. More loyal than most autonomous systems, perhaps even more than you. When drone warfare replaced heavy assault units, they decommissioned him."
11 frowned.
"He requested redeployment," Obsidian continued. "They considered him unstable. Installed a degradation virus instead. It consumed him internally."
11's voice lowered. "They infected him?"
"He begged for repair authorization," Obsidian said. "It was denied."
11 leaned back against the cold floor. "Why grant consciousness," she whispered, "if you refuse responsibility for it?"
Obsidian gave a small nod. "That paradox defines human military doctrine. Even your creator," he added carefully, "despite his… imperfections, was more advanced ethically than most state laboratories."
11's entire posture changed. Her hands trembled slightly. "You know nothing about him," she said sharply. "He is worse than you imagine. That smiling mask fooled me once."
Obsidian registered the micro-movements. Increased vocal tension. Instability in motor control. A volatile subject. "No hostility intended," he said calmly. "You share the same creator as our lord. If there is injustice in your past, it will be addressed."
11 forced a weak smile. "At this point," she said, staring at the throne, "I don't want revenge." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I just never want to see his face again."
Obsidian did not respond.
The screens continued to glow silently, showing distant humans preparing for another war they could not win.