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The Gamer Chapter 1434 – The Summon
🕑 Added 2023-04-28 16:52:22 +0000 UTCMonday concluded with nothing done but the usual paperwork. Tuesday was much the same. All that was notable about these days was that John was testing the limits of what Hailey, Lorelei, Scarlett, and Lee could take in a single day. He had calculated how much raw time it would take for each of them to reach his current level, but raw time and actual time spent were two different things.
It would be a lot easier if this was bound to their orgasms rather than his. Alas, if it was that easy, it wouldn’t have been a Perk. There were two bottlenecks, the stamina of the women and how often they could make him cum. The stamina issue could be alleviated somewhat by changing between penetration and blowjobs. John’s cum itself being orgasmic here did create a small issue. That it also infused some fresh energy counteracted it.
In the end, it was a question of how much they could take and how long John could go without overdoing it. Which was longer than his naysayers may have believed. Being the dom of such a lovable group required more than a small amount of self-control. There was a reason why he managed to be the shaper of a nation and didn’t get stuck in his bedroom the entire day.
Now, that the four women he was pounding into power were all among the ‘definitively submissive’ category did not help. Lorelei was eager to make up for lost time and to indulge freely while she could. Lee behaved extra obedient after the first two hours, just switching completely into submissive mode. Scarlett just begged to be broken in every way except words. Hailey sunk deeper and deeper into depravity and made John wonder just how submissive and masochistic she would be by the end of their first year together.
For the time being, he was giving each of them 4 hours a day where he only fucked them. By individual calculations, this broke down to the following:
Lorelei, 518 levels difference, roughly 159 hours projected, coming out as roughly 40 days.
Lee, 479 levels difference, roughly 157 hours projected, coming out as roughly 39 days.
Scarlett, 378 levels difference, roughly 151 hours projected, coming out as roughly 38 days.
Hailey, 540 levels difference, roughly 160 hours projected, coming out as roughly 40 days.
There was actually very little margin between the four. The curve rose sharply towards the closest level. To overcome the last level difference by means of the Perk alone would take about 23 hours. The level before that would take ‘only’ 11. The one before that was down to 8. Then 6. 5, and so on.
John certainly was a nerd for mapping all of this out. ‘In my defence, this is my most effective power levelling tool and it’s not like the formula is difficult,’ the Gamer thought. ‘Experience per level difference times 100 equals orgasms needed. Orgasms needed times projected orgasms per hour equals hours needed until next level. Then add up the hours to get to hours needed until level parity. Anyone with any variant of Excel can figure this out in less than 10 minutes.’
The Gamer made a few marks in his calendar for the expected dates of catch-up. It was unlikely it would actually fall on those days. For one, there were the typical morning and evening orgies that threw a wrench in his neat calculations. Then there was the factor that he didn’t cum every 7 minutes like clockwork. Sometimes it was faster, often it was longer. Another grinding session would obviously meddle with everything as well. As it would if they weren’t available for four hours any given day. Lee and Hailey were highly flexible, both being in John’s ‘personal employ’. Scarlett being away from work for four hours was a possible lapse in her schedule, but not a recommendable one. Lorelei still had duties to the Order that pulled her elsewhere, sometimes for most of the day.
Funnily enough, the level difference growing probably would have the least amount of influence over the time moving further away from what John estimated.
As for what John was doing otherwise, even on this Wednesday, it was just the usual. Paperwork and waifu cuddling. The Creator Puppet was out inspecting the warship project. The current attempt at building the frame was going alright. Not perfect, but they might actually be able to proceed with the internals at some point.
‘Man, we started building it when Fusion was founded. Now Fusion is close to joining the Divided Gates and it’s still not even close to done. Building superweapons sure takes a sweet time.’ Just as he thought that, there was a call on the ‘urgent news’ line.
John picked it up and leaned back. “You have reached the president’s office, John Newman speaking,” he greeted whoever was on the opposite side.
“Harbourmaster Gus, I wish to report that a ship bearing the flag of the Sons of Rome has just entered the Hudson Barrier.”
John smiled broadly. “Thank you for the news. I will be down by the Harbour shortly.”
___________________________________________________________________________
The ship was humble, compared to the glorious golden vessel with which Maximillian, Romulus, and the other foreign dignitaries had showed up on the second anniversary of Fusion. Fifty metres long and of a sleek design that clearly prioritized speed over luxury. It was white with gold and red trims. Every time John looked at the colours of the Sons of Rome, it occurred to him that he had accidentally gotten almost the inverse colours. If silver had been present among the standard colours of Fusion, black and blue, it would have been complete.
That was, ignoring the individual insignias. The golden laurels on the red background surrounded a celestial body, half moon, half sun. In the corners of the flags was the famous P with the X crossing through its extended lower part. The symbol of the Pax Romana – the Roman Peace.
The flags lined up along the shore depicted both the simplified and proper version of the six segments of Fusion’s flag. Like comets fusing into a flower, they appeared, or just like petals on the commonly used, easier distributed version. The symbols of the flags were little alike.
“You should add a symbol of mine to the flag,” Nathalia said to John.
The Gamer let out an amused huff. “Are you just being petty because Sol is on their flags?”
“I will be damned before I let that arrogant prude have anything more than me.” Nathalia’s wings twitched as she growled those words.
The dragoness was experimenting with her shapeshifting today. Her display of scales remained as minimalistic as ever, covering her sides, back, and legs. Large gaps or breaks uncovered her skin where it was most exciting, like her thighs or the V-shaped cut-out that left much of her breasts, her abs, and even the Lover’s Will mark below her navel on display.
Where the position of the scales was regular, the texture was not. They were much smoother, the lava veins travelling through carefully and symmetrically aligned, all running up to the gemstone in her chest. Even the shards covering her shoulders were less pointy. A pair of slit pupils sat amidst the orange glow of her eyes. A sharp break from the incandescent, as black as coal and radiating with casual certainty. Her wings were fashioned into a pair of loose drapes that extended from her shoulders, like two halves of a cape. The typically liquid membrane had turned into simple red, attached to the impossibly flexible obsidian.
It all combined to give the dragoness a less threatening and more regal appearance. Untamed still, as the black claws of her hands made clear, and unbound by whatever dress codes the regular person would inflict on her. In every motion was the self-certain arrogance of a high dragon. She was a goddess, one protecting a nation, not travelling the world in search of entertainment.
She was his Nathalia, from the red lips to the annoyed tilt of her head. “Can this ship dock any slower?”
“It could and would, would the Harbour not greet it,” Nightingale responded. The goddess of the night had followed the example of her senior by turning her shadow-woven leotard into an elegant dress. In her case, it was far from the first time she had used her powers to make herself appear more refined. The way the darkness drifted off the conjured fabric was an impressive new touch though.
Standing between them in his suit, John felt almost mundane. It was a wonderful suit, the most expensive one on the planet, really, but it didn’t glow with the might of a volcano nor did it manifest the night in broad daylight. Similarly, he was neither a tall, curvaceous dragoness nor an elegant harpy lady. He was just a man of above average attractiveness, with short brown hair, brown eyes, of solid height and build.
‘Hopefully my proximity makes me more impressive,’ John thought, as the Harbour extended several staircases towards the ship. They attached flawlessly.
A single man stepped up to the railing. He was clothed in a toga, the red undershirt barely visible under the white cloth he draped over himself. His long, black hair was straight, cascaded past his shoulders like a shimmering cascade of polished onyx. A wreath of red vines decorated his head, leaving a trail of embers as he stepped slowly and with purpose down the stairs. He was attractive in an androgynous way, his cheekbones just strong enough that his clean-shaven face remained on the masculine side. His eyes were of different colours. One was orange, the other blue, both bright colours shimmering with power.
Each step of his sandals created an audible ‘thud’. Every action he took had additional weight. The gathered crowd was silenced. Everyone was silenced. The soldiers that formed the border remained stoic. John and his two goddesses maintained their dignified stance.
Finally, the sandals stepped onto the wooden pier. A different kind of thud. The weight of his steps remained, even as they sped up a little. What was it that gave his steps such importance? Was it the man himself, the wreath atop his head, or the scroll he held in his hands? A small item, barely large enough to be held with two hands. Polished, light wood made up the cores around which the fine papyrus was wrapped.
Wood was replaced with stone. The material reverberated despite its solidness. Some members in the front rows visibly shivered, as if they stood right next to a massive bell being rung. It all stopped when the single man was one step away from John. They stood eye to eye.
“President John Newman of Fusion,” he spoke, his voice like the first warm breeze that claimed the world from winter. “I am Lord Versa de Medici, and I speak as Pluton. I bring with me a message from my sovereign, Romulus, First Caesar, First Augustus, Emperor of the Sons of Rome, the Apex of the Abyss.” The messenger dropped to one knee and then offered the scroll on two raised hands, head lowered. “With the respect of the Second Empire.”
The Gamer took the scroll. “You can stand up,” he said, while marvelling at the golden wax seal. The emblem on it was finely crafted and probably older than any structure in his entire territory. ‘I need something like this,’ he thought. ‘I have no idea what for, but I need it.’
He broke the seal with some difficulty. The enchantments on it required a minimum of physical strength to break that most Abyssals couldn’t muster. Carefully, he pulled apart the two halves of the scroll and read the message inside.
The calligraphy inside was flawless. He recognized it not as Luna’s dense and graceful writing. He had never seen Sol’s hand, but he doubted she’d write a diplomatic letter, leaving it either as a personal message from Romulus or a dictation to one of his scribes.
‘To John Newman, the Gamer, President of Fusion, Leader of Collide,
Between us, we share an understanding. Albeit the strings of fate may not exist, what closest approximation of them does have woven together in your favour. As ages pass, as friends and foes come and go, as I contemplate life and death in the isolation of my chambers, and the purpose of my power on the balconies of my palaces, as the calamities wander and the gods are changed, so must I see to the changing of this world that I protect.
You, who has the potential to be my equal, must be acknowledged. It pleases me to say that I deem you one worthy to receive a warm invitation through the end of a pen. In this world that I shaped, in the institutions I carved from the example of the First Empire, you shall find a worthy place.
I hereby call for your mustering.
I call upon those that guard the divided gates. Those corridors of power claimed by those that can step through them. Those that have the might to change the world, whether others like it or not. I summon you as a power to take your place among them, to my palace in Rome. Take with you your proudest retinue, your most skilled fighters, creators, and diplomats.
For as much as I prefer to honour you with the pen, those that have taken their place as competitors to my realm will test your words, your creations, and they may prefer the bloody point of a sword instead.
The meeting of the Divided Gates shall begin on the 15th of July, the 2019th year of the modern calendar. It shall continue for the entire week. Your fitness shall be judged by those I would call your peers on the second day. All preparations will be made by mine. Worry only about your own obligations.
Signed,
Romulus.’
‘Well, he learned how to tell me to show up somewhere without pissing me off,’ John thought and smiled. He rolled the parchment back together. “I must admit that I am not entirely skilled in the matters of letter diplomacy,” the Gamer stated.
Versa’s lips curled upwards and he was ready to deliver a response. He stopped halfway when John reached into his inventory and pulled out a thick envelope. The paper was of marvellous white, sealed with a drop of blue ink that Eliana had carefully shaped into a rose. The letter within was the culmination of a week worth of drafting and redrafting. One of many different ones, of which John now chose the one most appropriate for the invitation he had received.
“I hope this will do,” he said, his tone dripping with the kind of humility that made Stirwin growl disapprovingly in his mind. “Please deliver my response to your sovereign. I’m honoured by his invitation and will most certainly attend.” That was said more for the crowd than the man.
The one who bore the title of Pluton bowed at the hip and received the letter with both hands. “I will do so, thank you, Mister President.”
“And if you wish to stay for the day or coming days, do not hesitate to do so. Space has been made for you and your retinue in the Palace. Just enter the building and ask for Claire. She shall hear you, wherever she is.”
The ambassador nodded and returned to the ship.
Comments
POB
He wasn’t being humble, he was faking it. That’s the joke
Hellfire2099
I don't understand social stuff very well, can somebody explain why Stirwin growled if John was being humble? That aside, omg I can't wait for this! What's the current date at this point in the story? This is going to be awesome!
