He had to take it all in. Gen hadn’t been to the gate in a good while, and certainly not under such interesting circumstances. His field of view was dominated by the huge wall, a backdrop that reminded him thoroughly that he was still in another world. It was a different type of magnificent from skyscrapers, but in his eyes, it was equally impressive. The city had taken months to re-assemble the gate Merrilyn had leveled, for all of their manpower and intellect they could muster. It was even more impressive now that it was practical. Intricate grooves and cavities trailed from the bottom to the top, making a ‘climbing wall’ of sorts to allow people to surmount it from the inside. Sure enough, a certain someone had done so as soon as she had the choice. Kat sat atop the wall, glowing in the sunlight. She was hunched over, leaning her head on her hands, kicking her legs back and forth playfully. Gen quite hoped her shoes wouldn’t come off. He was no Physicist, but with how high up she was, they might hit terminal velocity.

Another object of interest, or objects in this case, was the tightly-knit wall of Gomen guards who had, as per his orders, encircled the Rebels. They were so massive and so well put-together that he couldn’t so much as see inside. The poor people inside were likely just as deprived of line-of-sight. James had trained them well- not many could keep composure in the face of ‘certain death’. Either the group was severely underrating Gen’s ability to kill them all, or they were simply that confident in the will of their leader, or both. He put aside a mental note that James’ freaky mind-control powers might have gotten a boost over the time he’d been away. More on the topic of how lethal Gen had made the city, he could barely spot the Goblins swarming nearby rooftops, weapons in hand. Nearly as soon as he saw flashes their distinct green tinge, they were gone, concealed in one of the many hidey-holes they had worked to establish. Under his order, radical restructuring of the city had made it a concrete jungle. It was probably more suited to guerrilla fighting than the forests the Rebels ran amuck in- which was another good reason to keep them under control.

Almost all of the Gomen had their backs to him, eyes trained on the army sitting in their midst. Only Ayala, the city’s Warden, faced away, awaiting his arrival. She smiled, curtseying sardonically and with such poor form that it seemed more like an insult. Really, curtseys didn’t look right from anyone with biceps thicker than your head. Needless to say, attempts to turn the woman into a right and honorable military officer had ended poorly. She was far too proud for that. At the same time, she had mellowed a bit to his reign around the time she figured out that despite his usage of Goblins and Gomen alike as expendables, they were still probably safer under his leadership. Part of it may have also been the fact that he finally let her inside the Boom Room- now more properly the ‘Boom Factory’. Frankly, Merrilyn’s little pet project made him want to hand her the reigns. He returned the Warden’s smile, bowing excessively and with all the precisely-trained form one should expect from leaders of men and the comically evil alike.

“They’re in there,” she grunted before he could even right himself. “What should we do with them?”

He sighed. “I’ll get… ‘peace talks’ started. Please set aside a building and cook up a nice little shell to prevent eavesdropping,” he said. She nodded left brusquely, hustling off to the side. He allotted her an appropriate amount of mana, thankfully far less than maintenance and creation of the original shield around the floating Alcatraz. Explanations of what a ‘shadow’ was and how her shield might actually function had been too hard to understand, but as she slowly came to terms with it, she seemed to get more and more efficient- and effective. By the time the Gomen troops finally gave him a little opening to get in, she seemed to be mostly done with the bubble-forming process. It would have been nice if she actually ordered the troops to pop open the encirclement before she left, especially since they couldn’t exactly hear him and knocking on armor hurt, but he had to admire how quick she was to get into action.

There they were, a hundred or so humans, all kneeling. Gen’s first impression was how unkempt they were, where virtually all were growing uncomfortable amounts of body hair and needed new clothes. James knelt at the very front, and when he saw Gen striding into the circle of muscle-bound men, he winked. Gen tried not to stumble, holding his posture as best he could. James looked like a caveman, far more muscular than he had been before he left and covered with hair. His head’s worth of hair was down to his shoulders, as was his beard. He wore an interesting ensemble, cloth and hide stitched together in an arrangement that looked almost artistic. Having someone who looked like a hermit wink at you was a unique experience, that much was certain. James was flanked by two other people, each sitting a half pace behind him.

To his left was a woman. She seemed to be more carefully pruned and preened, even though Gen knew internally that was quite impossible. Given her clean-cut state, he could recognize her immediately. It was Madeline, pop-star extraordinaire. He had overlooked her when she was in the city. He was far too busy with work to have shown up at Taverns, let alone to listen to a concert. She hadn’t turned up anything in her magic studies, either, until after the Rebels left the city. He regretted that immensely- her powers would be inevitably useful. She was beautiful, reasonably intelligent, and lethal. It took him a whole night and a half to get the city equipped to handle her, and if the Rebellion had attempted a siege, the city might well not have held. It was a damn good idea to get James at the helm. Judging by the way she glared at him, if she had started the coup, his head would have already been in a guillotine.

To his right was a… man? He had an incredibly pale complexion, the kind that should have burned after being under the sun for mere minutes. His features were elegantly cut, with an angular but soft bone structure that had a tint of familiarity and a gist of androgyny. Gen was pretty sure he didn’t know any vampires, but for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had met this one before. Granted, maybe they weren’t a vampire, since it was out in broad daylight. The pale man wore intricate robes that suited his looks, a complete and untattered outfit sewn together so completely that the various furs and skins and cloths looked like they were all part of one big ensemble and not scrounged up from forest scraps. It looked almost regal, with a tall collar at one end and the robe only finally stopping near his ankles. The sleeves went down to his hands and then some more, covering them entirely. Gen mused that if he and James traded outfits, Mister Moses really would look like a cult leader, or at least a monk of some description. The pale man growled at Gen when he noticed him looking, which was a bit jarring, considering his delicate appearances. Weaklings and scholars don’t growl, usually.

“Who’s the new guy?” He asked James nonchalantly, nodding over to the growling not-vampire to his side. James chuckled a bit, opening his mouth to speak, when the pale man interrupted. “Fuck you,” he spat, and promptly returned to growling.

James sighed. “That’s just Jim,” he said, and Gen couldn’t even try to cover his shock. He nearly tipped over, in fact. Jim had been robust, endlessly masculine, and hell, his skin tone had been somewhere between ‘tan’ and ‘dark’, not snow white. James looked over to Jim, scowling. “Simmer down.”

Jim immediately stopped growling, switching to a gentle smile. “How’ve you been?” He asked Gen, relaxed. That threw him for a loop, too. He wasn’t honestly sure if he should laugh or if he should cry- apparently everyone was in for mood swings today. James scowled harder. “I said ‘simmer down’, not ‘pal up’,” he said, dropping his tone to something just shy of a whisper. The crowd behind him- those who could actually get a gist for the conversation- was getting a bit antsy. They weren’t quite sure how to act, some still growling and spitting dramatically in Gen’s general direction, others tranquil or resolved to go wherever James led, no protest required. Madeline frowned at Jim, eyes searching for an answer, perhaps as to how he was so relaxed talking to the Tyrant. She seemed to have forgotten that quite a few of the people here had talked to Gen regularly before the schism.

Jim grunted. “Damn, boss, you’re dense,” and James just gawked, confused. Gen put two and two together. “Let’s keep things on topic, shall we?” He said the question more like an order, and he earned the ire of the crowd quite thoroughly. James got his game-face back on, and Jim returned to scowling and growling.

“I’m going to bring your leader away for ‘peace talks’,” he said. That much was to plan, but considering new information… Before Gen could even figure out how to justify changing it up, a figure shot up from the crowd.

“You can’t hurt him, Tyrant,” he shouted angrily. “We won’t let you!”

Gen recognized the boy. He was a young man, one of James’ first group, and among the initial Programmers. He had never been quite as good at it as his peers, but he had still been quite an asset. Gen could guess that he had been set quite thoroughly against ‘the Tyrant’ after witnessing their one terrible skirmish first hand from atop the wall, and realizing that the bloodshed was preventable, albeit necessary. No one else stood up to join his resistance, and he looked around, confused. James whipped back to look at him, desperately gesturing. ‘Sit down,’ he urged. ‘Just sit down’.

Naturally, the boy never had a chance to ‘just sit down’. His head was hit by four arrows at nearly the same time, each shot from a different direction. One skidded uselessly over his head, but the others found their mark, poking three new holes in his skull. The crowd went silent- even the growling and spitting and general hostility ceased. The person who was to the boy’s right had even been splashed with some of the blood and matter from his perforation, and after a moment of terrified gawking, they simply passed out. Gen decided not to impart any particular punishment on the people who scrambled to tend to the poor unconscious sap. James just sighed, turning back to the front and pouting.

“Good question! Yes, the Rebel will be allowed an escort.” Gen looked down at James, squinting. He took the hint, putting a hand on Jim’s shoulders and mumbling to Madeline about ‘keeping the rest of them calm’. Gen wasn’t quite sure if she got anything through her abject horror at the fresh body not but a few rows behind her, but the Rebel didn’t seem to care. He and Jim stood up, almost in unison, and Gen gestured to the gap in the encirclement, urging them forward. If only for appearances, it was good to take precautions- prisoners always walk in the front, especially if they’re dangerous or untethered. The crowd silently watched them go, shifting uncomfortably but making no protest.

The line of guards closed the gap behind them as they walked, like a door slamming shut. Gen pointed them in the right direction, and the three of them found their way into the secure structure. Ayala had even dragged out a table and chairs and some uncomfortable implements, perfect for ‘interrogation’. Gen picked them up and meandered through the room, setting them on some random shelf, while the other two found seats. He finally joined them, sitting across the table from the two rebels.

“A, B, C, D,” he counted out. James crinkled up his face. “You’re really gonna use that?” He asked, frustrated. Gen shrugged. “You could be some changeling race, for all I know. Apparently, Faeries are real, so there’s that.” James sighed. Gen had taught him a simple cipher to ensure they could at least verify they were who they said they were, provided a little thought. Considering how thoroughly Jim’s appearance had changed, maybe the kid was onto something. It was the Atbash Cipher, a simplistic cipher where you simply reflected the order of the alphabet. ‘A, B, C, D,’ would be… “Z, Y, W, X?” He asked. Gen nodded. He was pretty confident that even if some fairy intruder got a grasp on English, the cipher would have at least made them stumble. Too much more precaution would just be paranoia.

“How long have you known?” Gen asked, locking eyes with Jim. The man didn’t waver, and Gen got a strange sort of feeling from his eyes. A lot had changed in the time he’d been away. Gen hadn’t known Jim quite as well as James, but that was just a function of personality- he and James clicked, while no one except for maybe the Songstress had really ‘clicked’ with Jim. He had been quiet, imposing, and a little bit eccentric.

“Day one,” Jim said. “One of the perks of cultivation has always been heightened senses, and you guys weren’t exactly quiet in the back room.” He paused, tilting his head to think. “Merrilyn probably knows, too,” he concluded.

Gen groaned. “Yeah, I figured. Honestly, the fact that no one else seems to have figured it out is a small miracle. Welcome back, by the way.”

“Yeah, I love one of my men being shot, great greeting,” James interrupted, crossly.

“I thought for sure it’d take at least two or three casualties before they calmed down. You’ve trained them well.” Gen was positively upbeat at that. It was quite nice to see such a well-tailored army. He had spent more than a few nights fretting over whether or not James could tame so many rebels well enough to turn them into something useful. Hell, he had a hard time with just getting Kat to be more ‘results-oriented’. James grumbled a bit and slouched, elbow on table and head perched on hand.

Jim, for his part, grunted. “Glad to be back. Provided you don’t shoot me, at least.” Gen chuckled a bit at that. “Pleasantries aside, what happened to you?” He asked, letting a bit of steel slip into his tone. Jim had gone and done something strange again, or he was afflicted with some disease. In either case, it needed to be public knowledge. The man looked confused, and Gen tried not to notice James’ smug smile. “What happened?” He asked.

“I’m not sure how to explain it to you?” Gen said. “I mean, your muscle tone’s gone, and your face looks completely different. You even got a new… complexion?”

Realization dawned on Jim’s face, and he smiled. “I have condensed enough Qi to… Oh, fuck it, you’re not going to get any of that.” He started talking excitedly, but sometime between James laughing at him and Gen’s expression going totally blank, he pivoted and cleared his throat. “I got rid of my impurities.”

“Impurities as in what? Disease?”

Jim shrugged. “Disease, sure, but also a bunch of imperfections accumulated since birth. Anything born of Earth rather than Heaven, or something a bit esoteric like that. I’ve started way late so it was a bit of a pain in the ass, but all things considered, I’d be something of a prodigy.”

Gen gawked at him. “What does all that have to do with dipping yourself in flour and giving yourself a facelift?” He asked, incredulous.

Jim opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut. He had never quite concerned himself over why ‘white, pale, flawless’ skin was a necessary step in attaining his own Dao, or why the old stories had even included such a thing. He had actually met some people with excessively pale skin and they had little special about them other than how easily they burned under the sun. He tried a few more times, pursuing different paths of logic, before he finally settled on the one that made the most sense to him.

“It’s magic. I don’t have to explain shit,” he said as resolutely as he could manage.

Gen chewed that one over, before finally nodding slowly. He’d find a better argument for why it didn’t matter magically later on, but considering Jim was quite likely to be the foremost authority within the entire human race, he couldn’t really argue. “Well, what does it let you do?” He asked, doubly curious. Jim shot to his feet with impressive speed.

“Behold,” he said, flourishing dramatically. Little blue balls, about the size of pebbles, shot from his fingertips. He wiggled his digits, and the balls scattered, orbiting his entire body at some speed. He pointed to the table and they twisted around his body, rocketing down the length of his arm and finger and to the target. One by one they made impact, little explosions of flame and force rattling the little house gently, until finally there were ten evenly spaced holes in the wood, still smoking. Gen and James both clapped, oohing and ahhing at the display. Jim puffed up, strangely proud. “He can fly for a bit longer now, and he even heals pretty quick. Scars disappear.”

Gen grunted. “Man, why did I settle on such a weak power?” He asked, and Jim and James alike both stared at him. Jim shook his head slowly, while James just stared. “I can’t use magic, Gen. Not at all,” Jim said. Gen started to protest, but the man cut him off. “The only way I can get more powerful now is the way I’ve chosen. I think I believed a little too hard,” he concluded. “I can’t even feel mana the way I used to. It’s gone.” Gen tried to process that. In a vacuum, it was just the way things were. They weren’t in a vacuum, though. He even had an example to compare it to in the Conduit and actually Ayala. His mind dove in the rabbit hole, chasing after the elusive truth he needed to find if they wanted to compete to the magical races the Gomen kept warning about, but his more grounded self yanked it back into place. He shook his head hard, splaying his hand on the table.

“There are more pressing things to attend to, I apologize,” he said, adopting his best regalia. Jim sat down, or perhaps he had already been sitting. James relaxed, finally ending his laser-lock, which was strange enough. They needed to find an excuse to talk about whatever was on his mind later, Gen noted. “What got you guys? Why are you all here?” He asked.

“Well,” James said, “there’s a new game in town.”

Gen swore under his breath. “Explain.”

“Long story short, a bunch of giant burly guys with horns popped out of a blimp,” James continued nonchalantly.

“What the fuck?” Gen asked.

James nodded vigorously. “I know, right? We got as close as we could without getting their attention and watched them get set up. We thought we could take them, probably,”

“You couldn’t, though.” Gen concluded. “Why?”

“They set up some sort of structure, a nice little bowl thing and wired it up and set it to spinning. It’d whiz about and every time it stopped, a new horned guy popped out.” James nodded. “It took a while, but by the time we had set up properly to siege their little group, it had doubled in size.”

Gen groaned. “Real question is if they stole it from us, or if we stole it from them.” He thought it was properly enigmatic for a general-slash-bad-guy, but James stared at him blankly, and it was making him uncomfortable, so he had to compromise. “That temple Kat found in the jungle had a mechanism that worked the same way. It was a bit fancier, though. Never did figure out what going through that sack of shit trial gave me other than this hook,” he explained, waving it a bout.

James nodded. “Well, glad you know. Long story short, one of us got spotted, and we had to book it. ‘Consensus’ was that we’d need the army’s help to deal with this particular threat, at least after I manufactured it. It’s bad, Gen. Really bad.”

“What sort of magic do they have? Weaponry?”

Jim chimed in. “They’ve got fancy armor of the medieval variety. The blimp had a metric fuck-ton of metal plate armor instead of manpower, and it looked to be of reasonable quality. Magically, we didn’t see much of anything, but that’s cause for concern. James mentioned they ‘wired it up’. They plugged that magical shit in to some fancy boxes and it powered on, no problem.”

“They can store magic!” Gen exclaimed. “You’ve just given me a really good reason not to massacre them all. I’m sure your people will be proud.”

James grinned. “We’ve got to leave a few to interrogate, don’t we?”