Mason gripped a rot-infused, ‘disease’ demon with a claw, and ripped it in half from the neck down. It stunk. And sprayed flesh-eating acid before and after death. But other than that, it wasn’t so bad.

“Well don’t bite them, then. I can't do all your thinking.”

He rolled his eyes as Streak mentally complained about the taste of plague demon. The wolf went whipping by with some kind of bratty sarcasm, its massive body a hairy freight train as it ran over a few of the smaller demons.

Shawk screeched, and Mason stepped away as two more demons dropped screaming from the sky. One hit a tree and splashed down in the most disgusting waterfall ever as its flesh tore. The other hit the ground and straight up exploded. Shawk made a cackling sound and dove for its next victims. It really loved dropping things.

The portals came in multiple flavors, and Mason supposed variety was the spice of life. He preferred the fire version, but they definitely were a bigger threat to the forest. These ones seemed like they needed a lot more time to spread whatever pestilence their leaders were cooking.

Literally cooking. They’d brought a giant, iron cauldron filled with the most vile substance Mason had encountered in the great game. And that was really saying something. He cut the demonic chefs into a dozen pieces, and left them spread around their cauldron before spilling it on the ground.

Every tree for half a mile started complaining.

“Well…where am I supposed to dump it? The river?” Mason spun and put out his arms. “I swear to Christ. Shut up.”

It was bad enough when it was just animals whining about everything he did. Now it was the fucking plants, too. You could never make everyone happy. This is why no one wanted to become a politician.

Then a minute and several dead demons later, he realized if he’d just left the cauldron alone it might get sucked back up in the portal. The thought got stronger and stronger until he felt a little heat in his face.

OK, he’d probably fucked up. But he sure as hell wasn’t admitting that to the plants. He really was like a politician.

Between him, Shawk, and Streak, they hardly let the ‘disease’ demons get a few paces from their portal. They circled it and dragged the creatures back, slashing (or dropping) them in the radius with brutal efficiency.

Their ‘leader’ came out near the end. He was about the same size as the fire boss, and made about as much of a fuss. Though when this one saw Mason he seemed to instantly recognize his peril, and started waddling away on corpulent, pus-filled legs. It was probably abyssal or something and had seen the species-wrecking aura. Still, it was a bit embarrassing.

He died fast. And sure enough, everything, including the cauldron, sucked back up when the portal vanished. Mason looked at the dead vegetation all around the spill and sighed, hearing the silent judgment of the trees.

“Well at least I closed it. And they weren’t done cooking or…doing whatever they were doing. It was probably a weak version or whatever.”

It was a good thing he didn’t need their votes. He shook his head and Feywalked back to the center of the forest, then reached out with One with Nature. Shawk could probably cross the forest fast enough to be useful elsewhere, but Streak would be stuck up north for an hour until his call recharged.

The next attack was further west.

Back to fire elementals. Though these ones were more like lava and didn’t say a word, or seem particularly sentient. They died fast and with very little damage as Mason picked them apart with ice arrows and huge version of Grasping Frost. He re-gained some mana with his belt, but didn’t overdo it. In the forest he re-charged fast on his own.

When they were done, he was back to the center. Back to One with Nature and spreading his senses through miles and miles of ever-ready tree scouts. He watched his profile, monitoring the scouts and alerts and especially anything from Haley.

There were no major ‘system objectives’. And it seemed like Nassau itself was clear. He wasn’t surprised—taking the Nexus city would be a massive effort. They’d need an army. Maybe a couple armies. And he had little doubt there wouldn’t be more than a ‘raid’ or two to cause some damage before a final assault at the end. It would be roboGod’s final, dramatic climax.

Day one was proving to be a kind of gentle introduction to the apocalypse, all things considered. The thought sent a slightly concerned chill up his spine, because when had roboGod ever done anything ‘gently’?

He tried to tell himself they’d just over-achieved. That the synthetic god had underestimated mankind and hadn’t anticipated they’d become so powerful and coordinated in so little time. A piece of him even believed that was true.

But he also knew it wouldn’t just ‘accept’ that. It adjusted. It adapted, just like humans. And he knew this thing by now—no matter what, it would get the dramatic ending it wanted, no matter how it had to cheat or ‘adjust’. Somehow he knew that's what it was here for. That it wanted its ending as much as any human reading some story.

He cleared two more portals before dark, waiting hours in between as he stood there with senses open. New system text finally scrolled. The same usual bullshit. ‘Congratulations, humanity, on a successful first day of not dying!’

Yeah. Thanks for the encouragement. He saw the subtext of the message and knew he’d been right.

It had either gone easy on them, or else miscalculated. He could have sworn he felt the thing’s presence in the air—the attention of whatever the leader of the alien entity was. Like the sub-system in charge of the apocalypse had somehow screwed up and was getting replaced or rebuked.

And he had a bad feeling that robot servants would react just like human ones when the king was mad—they'd overcompensate. Day two was going to get fucking wild.

**

“So, how are we doing?”

Mason shifted back to his human form, washed off what was left of the sweat, demon goo, and assorted acids, then joined most of his command team in the elven scout enclave.

It was just his lead scouts and players for now. Most of the civilians were still at the beacons exchanging information, or furiously working on whatever craft they could while things were still relatively calm.

“We’re doing…kinda too good,” Carl said, giving him a look. Apparently he wasn’t the only one thinking they were about to get screwed.

“I have marked every portal on both continents,” Orlon said, pulling up the entirely revealed map of New Earth. “I have my...theories. But I would appreciate if you inspected the map to see if you notice any patterns.”

Carl, Phuong, Garet, the other scouts and Mason all stared.

The east had apparently had more attacks than he’d expected, they were just small. And also a lot more consistent in terms of where they’d been. They almost followed a predictable sort of line or two along the rivers. Some more on the coast.

“Settlements,” he said as he realized, than looked back at the west. “I think they’re attacking where human settlements used to be. It’s just most have been moved or destroyed.”

“Base camps?” Phuong suggested, taking a breath. “Maybe they’re trying to establish some kind of beach head. If they can take old settlements, maybe they keep the portals open. Or at least earn ‘points’ against us, or something.”

Orlon looked confused. Mason didn’t really feel like explaining they were all in a science experiment designed by a peeping Tom giant alien robot. He supposed the fiction would do.

“Think of it as a game between gods,” he explained. “There’s gods who want this world destroyed, and there’s gods who don’t. For whatever reason, humans are the main interest. What we do or don’t do. The places we hold or don’t. And if we fail, the world-breakers win. And that’s it for the prime.”

Orlon blinked and stared, maybe looking for the joke. Mason and his people did not laugh.

“Then…” The elven scout captain shrugged. “I suggest you create a map of all previous human settlements.” The man hadn’t missed a damn beat. “Possibly famous battle sites. Any significant events or points of human interest. To be thorough, all such sites should be collected from the humanoids we have access to.”

Mason nodded, thanking God again the elven scout captain had survived his perilous journey across the prime. He looked to Kiaan and the other scouts, but they were already huddled together whispering.

“We’ll have a map for you by morning, Patron,” said Kiaan, meeting his eyes. “We’ll get messages to the orcs, centaurs, and goblins of both continents. We have contacts amongst their scouts.”

Yet another man Mason thanked God for. And one who he’d recruited after killing his old employers. Funny how life went sometimes.

He smiled in thanks and started moving for the door. He wanted to see his women and maybe just look at his infant children waiting in a nursery. He still struggled to hold them or do anything useful. He felt like he’d break them or at least make them cry just by touching them.

He knew he had to get over that, and he intended to. Maybe he’d find a way to soften after he stopped the end of the world. Maybe he’d prove Chinua wrong and find some kind of peace, beating his swords into plowshares.

Even the thought made him shiver with a kind of bored revulsion. But a man could hope.

Until then, he just liked…looking at them. Seeing fresh little life that was his, that came out of other instincts that came much more naturally.

It reminded him that he had a house full of beautiful women waiting. And at least a few hours before he was back out slaughtering the soldiers of every other plane of existence. Battle always made him horny.