Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO ON KINDLE SEPT. 2)

Isaiah peered at the monitor, which displayed a maze of tiny conduits. Some blazed with the current of ethera, while others conducted electricity. In a perfect world, the two would have worked in harmony, but anywhere they clashed, sparks flew. Thankfully, the system was designed for that, taking the best parts of both worlds.

There was a problem, though, and one Isaiah needed to fix soon or things would go extremely wrong very quickly. Even as he guided his tools – which resembled platinum tweezers but were actually made of inert metals that wouldn’t interfere with anything – he wished he’d taken the Tradesman archetype. That would have made his current task so much easier.

Instead, he’d picked Scholar, assuming that knowledge would equate to power. Then, he’d become a Technomancer, giving him a hybrid class meant to intertwine ethera-based technology with the machinery of the old world. So far, he’d managed it to a great degree of success, not only improving himself via a robotic leg and an artificial heart, but also by ushering Seattle forward and helping his people recover from what could only be called a rocky start.

And it put him on the radar of the mechaniques, who’d given him an elder core, increasing his power by no small degree. In a lot of ways, that was as important as any other benefit of his class.

But for a mechanique – which was what he’d become the second he’d gotten one of their cores embedded within him – progression was slightly different. He still had all the same lines on his status, but for him, cultivation was a more active process. No sitting around and meditating. No breaking the body down via various poisons, only to rebuild better and stronger. For a mechanique, cultivation was about active self-improvement. Slowly altering their inner workings until they reached the perfection of transcendence.

It would be a long process.

So far, Isaiah had only managed to reach the second tier on three out of the four aspects of cultivation, with only his Soul lagging behind. Considering that taking the next step in that category would require him to extend a complex pattern of wiring throughout his body, he was still stuck on the planning stage. If he proceeded too soon, he wouldn’t survive the implementation of those plans.

For now, though, he was working on something that would give him more power. Specifically, he was tinkering with the wiring of his artificial heart, which was the physical representation of his core. A complex piece of machinery that ran off his body’s naturally generated electricity as much as ethera, it was already a work of art that far surpassed the artificial hearts of the pre-transformation Earth.

But it needed to, with the strain that came with increased attributes.

Finally, he found what he was looking for – a miniscule stretch of burned circuit, no larger than a hundredth of a millimeter – and began his repairs. In the old world, doing so would have taken specialized tools, but for Isaiah, he only needed to use one of his abilities:

Rewire

Temporarily reroute energy to an alternate path.

The ability was far more complex than it seemed at first glance, largely because the rerouting in question occurred in another dimension. Isaiah could scarcely even sense it, and to the naked eye, it seemed that the current of ethera simply jumped from one place to another, skipping over the damaged portion so he could maintain the function of his heart while effecting repairs.

Once that was done, he quickly got to work, knowing that Rewire would only last for a few minutes. That was enough, and he used a new material – which resembled copper, but was capable of conducting ethera as well as electricity – to repair the damaged section. It only took about thirty seconds, but when he was finished, sweat was pouring down his face.

Part of that was tension. If his heart failed, no amount of attributes would save him. But mostly, it was the effort of pushing so much ethera through his taxed channels. None of his repairs were free, and the process was further complicated by the fact that he couldn’t even see the circuits with the naked eye. That – and the awkward positioning involved – was why he had to work via the monitor before him.

But now it was finished, and he let himself relax.

After taking a long, deep breath, he let Rewire lapse. For a single heartbeat, he was terrified that he’d made a mistake. No matter how many times he worked on the heart, he was constantly afraid that he’d overlooked some detail. But it only lasted until he felt the ethera surge through the circuit.

He let out a sigh of relief. Closing his eyes, he tilted his face toward the ceiling, basking in the feel of perfect circuitry. Soon enough, he’d find more flaws. A burnt conduit here, a redundant loop there – he knew well enough that he had a long way to go. But for now, it felt good.

A few more months, and he might be able to make the attempt at a complete overhaul so he could push to the next tier of core cultivation. Before that, he would need to complete the wiring design for his ethereal conduits that represented his soul, then implement those plans.

Indeed, he had a long, long way to go.

For now, though, he couldn’t focus on his cultivation. He had too many other things on his plate. So, he set his tiny forceps on a sterilized tray, then closed the gateway to his heart. Once it sealed, something approximating skin manifested atop it. It didn’t quite match his complexion, but it was better than having an exposed metal port on his chest.

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When he was finished, he spent some time looking at a hologram of the heart. Once again, he marveled at the complexity of the design. Most of it was his work. Certainly, the Engineer who’d originally designed it was extremely talented, but a mechanique’s core was a very personal thing. As such Isaiah had iterated on the design dozens of times since it had been implanted, and as a result, it only vaguely resembled its former form.

For a few minutes, he inspected the next area of inefficiency, zooming in to an almost microscopic level. But in the end, he knew he didn’t have time for proper plans, so he eventually abandoned the task, intending to pick up on it at a later date.

After that, Isaiah headed to his attached quarters, where he quickly showered and donned his official uniform. It resembled a U.S. Air Force dress uniform, though with a few cosmetic additions. Those had not been his idea, though he’d been convinced that they were appropriate, given his station as the city’s unquestioned leader.

The color was predominantly navy blue, with gold circuit-inspired embroidery rising from the cuffs of the sleeves almost all the way to his shoulder. In addition, the jacket no longer had lapels, but instead sported a clean, minimalist design and a high, Mandarin-style collar. The pants were just navy trousers with calf-high boots. In all, he thought he looked like a would-be dictator, though a stylish one.

The Tailor had explained her reasoning for the designs – a whole lot about symbolism and clean lines – but Isaiah had resolved himself to simply trusting the woman’s expertise. She knew what she was doing, and she’d designed the uniforms for the entire defense force.

In any case, the uniforms were not just aesthetically pleasing. They were functional as well, offering some protection against projectiles and blunt force. However, the feature Isaiah appreciated the most was that they came with climate control. Given that Seattle was located in the middle of a desert, that was a welcome trait indeed, and it kept him cool even beneath the glaring sun.

Not that he went outside that much anymore. He didn’t need to, what with his network of drones, cameras, and other monitoring devices. Isaiah did his best not to intrude on people’s privacy, but he considered the city’s security to hold a much more prominent place in his list of priorities.

Once he was dressed, he took one last look at his reflection in the mirror, and after he felt satisfied, he headed out into the Citadel. It was not only his home, but also the seat of Seattle’s governmental operations. As such, it was a sprawling building that could rightly be called a palace.

As he strode out of his quarters, a pair of guards – both of which held the new ethera-powered guns his Engineers had developed – fell in to either side. They didn’t speak, but instead silently escorted him to his first destination – the council’s chambers.

Upon entry, he was unimpressed by the décor. That hadn’t always been the case, largely because he knew how much time and effort had gone into the chamber’s creation. But by this point, it had become mundane to him. In fact, he resented having to enter at all, largely because of the people he usually found within.

And they were all present.

At times, he considered them his nemeses, even if he knew they all had the city’s and its population’s interests at heart. Because of that, he accepted their arguments in good faith, even if he wanted to simply clamp down on them and force them to see things his way.

The right way.

But despite the impression given by his attire, Isaiah was no petty dictator. He valued other’s inputs, and he took them under advisement when he decided the city’s direction.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said after taking his place at the circular table. It had a hollow center, allowing for a three-dimensional display which, at present, showed the layout of the city. The whole idea behind the circular table was to suggest that they were all equal.

It was a lie.

Isaiah was in charge, and everyone knew it. They accepted it both because of his power – knowing everything that happened in the city was a potent thing – and because of his track record. Under his watch, the city had prospered, and everyone there had benefited greatly.

“How are preparations going for the Summit?” he asked, glancing from one Councilor to the other. They each represented one of the city’s factions. Some were elected officials from the various districts, but others led important forces – like the Hunters or Crafters – that gave their opinions weight.

Willa Connors – the Secretary of Logistics – stood from her position. She was a tall woman with narrow shoulders and pale skin that made her look incredibly frail. She had some strength in her, though, and Isaiah appreciated her abilities more than most.

“We have received seven-thousand, two-hundred-and three responses,” she said. “We expect at least ten-thousand delegates to arrive starting next week, with another few thousand trickling in as we approach the date of the Summit. However, in your packets, you will find a listing of the top two-hundred attendees, as well as another fifty or so wild cards who may show up but have not responded to the invitation.”

She went on, “Accommodations have been made according to perceived power. Those at the top – mostly former rankers on the power list – will be given rooms nearest the Citadel. Those near the bottom will be housed toward the edge of the inner city, with all others left to find their own accommodations.”

“Others? Even ones who weren’t invited?” asked Alvin Saab, one of the other councilors. He represented the people of Mercer Mesa, and he was one of the most unpleasant people Isaiah had ever met. However, he got results, and after he’d taken over that particular community, they’d fallen into line quite quickly.

“We expect at least a hundred thousand undocumented attendees. Perhaps as many as half a million,” Connors explained. “Word has spread very quickly, and with the ease of teleportation afforded by the Conclave, the barriers for attendance are nil. We are prepared for it, though.”

Isaiah frowned. That was an incredible amount of people, and if the numbers grew by even a little, the newcomers would outnumber the residents. Thankfully, he felt confident that the Interdiction Force could handle the crowds – especially with him watching everyone in the city.

“What do we have to tell them?” asked Isaiah.

“Three Primal Realms have been confirmed. We have found thirteen other locations that meet the ethera requirements, but we do not have enough information to confirm the presence of a Primal Realm. Each of those could simply be high-grade towers or regions playing host to powerful natural treasures. We’ll know more when everyone starts arriving,” Connors answered.

As expansive as Isaiah’s efforts at surveillance were, he still had plenty of limits. Because of that, he needed the rest of the world to get onboard. The alternative was excisement.

To that end, he’d liaised with the Conclave, spending a good portion of Seattle’s combined wealth to fund their spread across the world. Only through those efforts had they managed to reach so far and accommodate such an extensive population.

“Good. The auction?” Isaiah asked.

“Preparations are complete, with goods having already begun to arrive.”

After that, the meeting went on, and Connors described the rest of the preparations. It was an enormous feat of logistical ability, organizing everything, but she seemed to have it all in hand. Not only was there the Summit itself and the auction they’d intended to attract more people, but they’d also established a carnival that would be ongoing throughout the Summit, including gladiatorial games, a market for goods that would never make it to auction, and a host of balls and other parties meant to establish relationships between the world’s most powerful people.

Because as Isaiah had already established, the stakes were too high not to make every effort. They needed the entire planet to work together if they were going to avoid disaster. He even had his own plans to ensure that everyone would follow his lead.

“Very good, Miss Connors,” Isaiah said. “Now, let’s get to security. We can’t afford to mess this up.”