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The Gamer Chapter 1495 – Divided Gates Meeting 1 – The Leaders of the World
🕑 Added 2023-08-12 13:21:33 +0000 UTCJohn would have loved to be at the Harbour when the leaders of the Divided Gates arrived. However, Fusion wasn’t the host and his presence there had the potential to interrupt the proceedings as Romulus wanted them to unfold. The Apex was straightforward in his intent to speak to each of the arrivals individually – alone.
If the Gamer had been hosting the event, he wouldn’t have done it any other way.
Consequently, he could not have been by the harbour. He could have been near it, housed comfortably in a tower that oversaw the arrivals. That was about as close as a world leader could get to such proceedings. If he put boots on the ground, he would be swamped by civilians.
However, watching from afar wasn’t his style. Instead, he used the remainder of the day and the morning of the next to coordinate with his own people. The opening ball approached quickly enough. On the 15th, everyone would arrive, and on the 16th, the actual vote would be held. That was the planned structure. Of course, if the vote was inconclusive, they all had brought with them extra time.
“We looking good?” Rave asked, eyes roaming around.
The harem was in various fascinating states of dress. Because the meeting between the Divided Gates was not a ball or gala in the traditional sense, but instead a gathering of the strongest Abyssals, combat regalia was as accepted as expensive outfits. Everyone, therefore, wore what they wanted.
Eliana was the most extreme example of that, putting on her typical combination of leather bra and thong and throwing a black robe on top for the barest hint of propriety. Even after all this time, she did not like wearing clothes – not that their lifestyle encouraged that either.
Lee, similarly, wore what she usually did, even if a combination of black t-shirt and blue skinny jeans was far less eye-catching. Which was, doubtlessly, the point. Salamander, next to her, would attract all the eyeballs in her stead, a corset and tight pants putting all of the curvaceous body of the fire spirit on leather-clad display.
While Aclysia and Beatrice had elected to maintain their maid outfits, the other three servants had picked up unique clothes for the evening. Momo wore a black and white dress covered in patterns that resembled fractal tree branches, symmetrically imprinted on the long skirt. Claire had opted for a gothic dress from thick cloth of black and wine red. It almost seemed like it belonged in the Renaissance era, its front beset with silver buttons. Delicia wore a downright casual summer dress, a rejection of any type of splendour, and an opportunity to wear something that really showed off the shortstack’s tits.
Hailey had put herself in high fashion for the evening, tying her hair up and wearing an expensive dress. Despite its simple designs, the cut of it made the craft apparent. The loose front and open back showed off a phenomenal amount of side-boob. With it came the view of her tan lines, which created that enticing contrast between her proud redneck origins and the wealth she found herself in.
Metra wore a one-piece thing that barely qualified as a dress. The metallic grey skirt ended shortly below her hips, leaving nearly all of her toned thighs exposed. To show off even more skin, the sides of the dress were an open criss-cross pattern, leaving triangular windows between them that went all the way up to her arms. There were no shoulder straps or anything, the sheer tightness of the thing kept it in place. A hole in the back let her move her fluffy tail freely.
Nia was just in her usual, colourless dress. The gift from the Nirvana was ever appropriate for galas, with its flowing skirt and elegant chest piece that left both shoulders and back exposed.
Undine was in a boasting mood tonight. Something that did not really reflect in the water spirit’s expression or even verbal tendencies, just in her particular choice of dress. A wonderful black piece, covering much of her skin, but in a manner that was as tight as possible. Her breasts were cupped, her waist hugged, and the straight skirt dangled down from the width of her hips.
Scarlett, just by virtue of being less gifted in the curves department, looked more conservative. Wearing a red dress that matched the colour of her eyes and hair, she looked as ready for a business meeting as a dance.
Lorelei wore her best dress, which, much to John’s chagrin, still was the one from her Order days. An ash grey piece that was, in a complicated process, layered around her body. Its rims were decorated in golden swirls, the sleeves and collar further emphasized through a rose red background, atop which actual roses were depicted in gold. The skirt was long enough to whisper over the ground, turning a silver white that showed the dust that had gathered over the years. It was a gorgeous dress and yet it had been reserved for the safety of remote estates.
Gnome chose to go with her natural dress and it was a solid choice. The red of summer fit the brunette nicely and the vital branches, leaves, and flower petals that were woven into the dress were impossible to emulate even by the most gifted tailor. If she had any misgivings with it, it would likely have been the shortness of the skirt.
Nightingale had extended her usual leotard with a flowing skirt and that made all the difference to make it a proper piece for a gala.
Sylph, perhaps out of laziness, went with her own green leotard. The silvery mixture of collar and necklace around her neck, including the blue gemstone, added a bit of decoration, as did the green gloves and shoes. All of it was trimmed by brass rings. When Sylph twirled through the air without babbling nonsense, she did actually strike quite the majestic figure.
Nathalia had chosen to quadruple down on her sex appeal. The black dress she wore was not just tight – the corset nearly made her tits pop out. Whenever she moved, it was like watching two cups of gelatine wiggle on top of a plate. That those humongous sweater puppies remained put was as much a miracle as the sheer amount of leg the tall woman showed through her double-slit skirt.
Siena wore a complicated piece that technically was one piece but really did not look like it. Flimsy strings connected dark leather bits, leaving as much of her curves visible to the plain eye as possible, without losing its categorization as a dress. A large gap in the back let her tail curve around. The shadow spirit knew she looked fantastic and she wanted everyone to see it too.
Last and definitely not least (how could there have been a least?) was Rave. Her dress was light blue and pink. Made by her favourite tailor, it had the soundwaves of a song stitched into it with black yarn. It made the already complicated dress, with its layered skirt and bright colours, visually busy, but it was still gorgeous.
On one hand, John felt a bit plain next to them, in his black suit, copper shirt, and dark pants. On the other, he was happy with how easy it was as a man to make the correct wardrobe choices. He knew he looked good in what he wore and really he was happy to have his clothes be less visually outstanding. It elevated his company even more.
“We looking good,” Rave decided with a nod.
“Fantastic.” John clapped his hands together and everyone in the apartment got moving. That Romulus had provided him with a room that could accommodate his entire harem was quite gracious. Especially after he had learned that they had needed to restructure the area to make it so. Even the Apex had not dealt with a man who needed a 20-person bed before.
Which, really, just gave John an ego-boost. He was the man with the greatest harem the Apex of the Abyss, the hegemon of the past ten millennia, knew. If there was any indication that he had done everything correctly, then certainly that was it.
Outside the apartment a servant waited for them. Romulus being the product and shaper of a different time was definitely visible in the choice of garment of his service staff. The woman wore a brownish white dress that was fashioned from a single piece of wavy cloth, secured in place by a bronze cord around her waist. Her shoes, barely visible beneath the edge of her skirt, were a pair of tightly sitting sandals. From the outfit to the platter she carried, she did fit the Roman archetype.
As unusual a sight as she was to John, she definitely did fit the environment more than any of them did.
“Lady Luna kindly requests that you follow me,” the servant said in a soft Italian accent.
“Lead the way,” John said, taking the helm of his large group of lovers behind the servant. No words were exchanged. The Gamer was still too busy taking in the sheer splendour of his environment. There were carvings in the walls older than any of them, except Nathalia. Impressive as his Palace was after the latest upgrade, it would still take a long while before he could claim this level of history. It impregnated the very air with a feeling of reverence.
They were guided to a teleportation pad. John knew the kind, reserved for short range transportations between two firmly anchored points. It was the most common kind of teleportation in the Abyss. Everything beyond it was theoretically possible, but took too much energy to be regularly viable. Just another notch in the column of absurdities of his Guild Hall.
“Please wait here for the Ladies Luna and Sol to call for you,” the servant requested.
“Alright,” John answered with a suave smile. It made the dark-haired woman blush mildly, but otherwise she kept her composure. ‘I suppose my Charisma is that high these days,’ the Gamer thought.
It only took a few more seconds for the intertwining voices of the celestial goddesses to echo out from an ephemeral connection between the two ends of the teleporting bond. ““We invite the guests of honour to this gathering: John Newman, President of Fusion, and his harem.””
“Boooo, we get summarized,” Rave complained quietly.
“It would be a bit of a hassle,” John defended their hosts, as they stepped onto the teleportation pad.
They appeared on top of a platform, ten steps upwards from a truly massive ballroom. Roman columns were half-set into the walls, tall gold-trimmed windows and murals between them. A second set of columns surrounded an empty circle at the centre. Against each of them sat a musician, plucking harps, playing flutes, singing and all around adding to the festive air a charm of an age that had long passed in the mundane world.
The floor consisted of one cyclopean slab of beige stone, metallic inlays filling out carvings on its surface that depicted a sun and a moon circling around the Earth, which perfectly fit into that central circle of columns. Between the empty middle of the room and the ornate walls stood hundreds of tables, filled with buffets. While the room itself was Roman through and through, the décor of the tables and chairs was in the theme of the ten guilds in attendance. From the flowing geometry of traditional Chinese patterns, over the runes of the Odin’s Sons, to the hard angles of the Purest Front and the Art Deco of Fusion, each segment of tables represented the native culture of the visitors according to their wishes.
The ‘regulars’ of each guild were already present. A crowd of hundreds, their combined power so rich that John could feel the difference in mana in the air hit him like a sudden change in temperature. They hung around their individual segments of the room, only the opportunistic or the closely aligned bothering to converse outside their ingroup. Ten crowds, divided along the lines of ethnicity, clothing, and culture.
John and harem descended the stairs to moderate applause. The people of Fusion, important politicians and military personnel primarily, gave their leader the proper deference. Beyond them, it was mostly the Illuminati, Rex Germaniae and Prometheus that gave Fusion audible support. Everyone else went from near total silence to the bare minimum in applause.
The platform was located at the south-end of the room, and the Fusion camp right by its base. That put them as far away from the attached gardens as possible, a minor point of annoyance for some of the haremettes. Most important to John was that they were the first to have been introduced and they were in a premiere position to see everyone else enter. A deliberate decision by Romulus, to let the Gamer have a good first look at all the leaders of the Divided Gates whom he had not interacted with before.
Sol and Luna waited until the harem had joined the rest of Fusion by their tables. The two goddesses flanked the basis of the platform, more than fifty metres across. Tall and of tanned skin, Sol stood to the left, smaller and pale, Luna on the other side, both of them clad in dresses that matched the cosmic radiance of their hair and eyes. They spoke in perfect unison. ““Atrahasis, Sultan of the Great Sultanate, and crown prince Osman.”
Out stepped a duo in brilliant turquoise and red robes. The younger of the two stood a step back, his clothes finely tailored, his dark beard and hair trimmed carefully. The older, much older, was covered in layers upon layers of decadent wealth. A mighty grey beard had been cut to perfection, the sideburns disappearing up into a turban of white and gold silk, tied to a knot under a crescent gem.
What stood out most, to John, was the face of the sultan. Illusions covered it to the naked eye, but John saw right through them thanks to Observe and the dual vision his contact lenses allowed. Outward was a man who had proudly aged, underneath was the spotted face of man in his final years. Here and there, the expression remained regal, a lifetime of rulership giving even a fading man the necessary experience.
““The Horned Rat, Aristocrat Celeste, and Great Researcher Norahnon, Triumvirate of the Illuminati,”” Sol and Luna introduced the next set, their disdain for the god hidden well.
For once, the Horned Rat appeared without unexpected effects. The tall, hunchbacked god skulked behind the two humans walking before him. One was a gorgeous woman, even among Abyssals, her complexion suggesting a Mediterranean heritage. Perfect black hair, straight and unequally parted at her forehead, cascaded down to slender shoulders and the azure blue dress. Norahnon was the embodiment of the mad scientist archetype, thin, wearing a labcoat, loose clothes underneath, his white hair a mountain of strands between explosion and electrocution.
“”Lydia Augusta the Fourth von Hohenzollern, queen of Rex Germainae.””
John’s eyes snapped from the Horned Rat to the top of the stairs.
The flash of arcane light ebbed away, simultaneously being replaced by a glorious golden glow. Flawless white plates covered her, metal as if shaped from the concept of the word ‘stainless’. Gold and silver adorned its surface through trim and winding patterns. The armour sat tightly enough to hint at her curves, yet was practical through and through, leaving no unnecessary gaps or structural weak points between or on its segments. From her hip hung the Mithril sheath of Strimata. From her back hung a cape of woven light, waving with each of her confident steps down the staircase like dense, golden mist. From her neck hung a chain of interlocked, flat segments of cast iron, so unassuming that they grounded the sheer magnificence of her appearance in a little bit of reasonability.
For all the light bound into her appearance, John only had eyes for her face. Lydia’s hair was bound into her ever-present braid, her red lips remaining a stern line under the fine swing of her nose and the controlled grey of her eyes. Only when their gazes met did they lighten to a sky blue.
Lydia deviated from the path to her people for a few moments, taking the time to approach the Gamer. “I thank you for the gifts, John,” she said, her tone as affectionate as she was diplomatic.
He was so infinitely tempted to drop to one knee right then and there, but their agreement was clear. Resigning himself to taking her hand, he waited for the short moment it took the gleaming metal of her gauntlet to fold out of existence. Then, he pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “It is ever my pleasure, Lydia,” he assured her.
They did not need to speak loudly for this to be heard. In a room of superhumans, a whisper might as well have been a plain conversation, and a plain conversation might as well have been shouted. Hesitatingly, he let go of her hand. Ever more determined to do what needed to be done, Lydia turned away swiftly and walked to her people. John noticed Maximillian among them, the two of them exchanging a little wave.
Then the introductions continued.
Comments
Funatic
Little less crazy, but not inaccurate
Chris
My mental image of Norahnon is pretty much just the black powder guy from critical role.
