Jeb and I overlooked the city from a convenient ledge. Nothing much had changed there, in stark contrast to HQ. Only a severed dragon head kept us company. Everyone else had lined up some ways off the city outskirts. They were closing in at a leisurely walk. Locals noticed them approach and distant figures scurried to and fro, no doubt warning their reigning despots of the forty-something Ascendant showing up on their doorstep.

  Dragon Company lined up in a semi-circle. Only a few strayed from the formation, Syer Squad surrounding Mel. Once everything was picture perfect, the fres went up. Mel wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. All the floating lights were red, carefully curated to recreate the image of a dragon in the sky. Crowds formed at what they thought a safe distance, as if such a thing existed. In a way, I felt sorry for these people, even though my sympathies didn’t stretch particurly far.

  Jen had already confirmed what I suspected. They weren’t truly aware of what was out there. Sure, they knew about the big nasty threats like the Greatbeast since it visited them during the eclipse too. Some stories of the ascension games jumped from person to person. Their overlords occasionally showed off their powers without a doubt, reminding everyone why they were in charge. Ascendants patrolled when they could be bothered to, funting their natural aura of ‘do not fuck with’. Sometimes people disappeared, having ventured too far into unculled zones, dying to Errant. Those with a bit of power under their belt suffered the same fate in familiar stomping grounds, falling victim to wandering variants.

  Yet they cked true understanding. My mind resisted examining the recollections of battle too closely. Even so, personal experience taught harsh lessons, of a kind not easily dismissed. No matter how much power we accumuted, it likely wasn’t enough. Always faster, always stronger, always damaged beyond any reasonable expectation of recovery, and always something or someone even stronger just on the horizon. At first a few seconds of violence transpired in the span of one. But the escation never relented. By the time we assaulted the fortress, thousands of Errant died in a day.

  No one said it out loud, but the implications remained. Godstrikes, orbital destruction, stats so high they promised years, and soon decades, to match the trained with the gained. The one-hundred level cap merely bottlenecked the first threshold. It didn’t take a genius to figure out there were many more ahead. In the very beginning, the System’s message encouraged us to take hope, for the ability to avert Godstrikes lingered within reach, far away though it might be.

  A cynical man, such as myself, wondered how to quantify that. How much magical or physical endurance overpowered something which blew up a pnet? How much magical or physical power cracked a celestial body like an egg? What even was the speed of a shockwave, and how much physical speed outran it? The System clearly managed our growth. If ten magical speed allowed for a new sub-process, how much did it need to maintain the complexities of our empowerment, all once-eight billion simultaneously?

  We’d probably never tie it in the superpower dick-measuring contest, that much was obvious. It didn’t make any sense, to surpass our ‘benefactor’. Expecting such was the height of folly. I wouldn’t be a proper nihilist without considering the obvious however. Enticing us with fantasies of pseudo-godhood certainly seemed like effective motivation. But what if it lied?

  Even statistics slithered around our necks like a hangman’s noose. The numbers prompted a simple calcution. The first games permitted a 50% survival rate at a rare best. A simple assumption tightened the knot. Half became a quarter, a quarter an eight, an eight a sixteenth, and so forth. A streak of bad luck converted a sixteenth to one in ten thousand and reality put the truth somewhere in between.

  Our original vilge housed 216 people at its height, according to Mel. Between the games, the eclipse and other assorted casualties, we numbered less than fifty now - all in less than a year’s work. Most of those happened outside the games too, and so another zero worsened the odds. And let’s not forget. Somewhere, more Greatbeasts loomed. They all hung out in the north. Disparate reports from distant arrivals put the number of them well above a dozen. Still, despair held no appeal. We learned to fight back after all, learned to fight back rather well. A few more pike-bound wouldn’t change anything. Too bad I’m starting from scratch, shitty odds.

  Movement interrupted my musings on extinction.

  The sea of people parted. The disenfranchised masses dispersed on their muddy squalid streets. They shuffled in between their makeshift homes built out of cantrip byproducts. All stepped aside and provided passage for the big boys, still led by Destroyer the Dumb-fuck and eight of his Ascendant buddies. Supposedly, they mostly stopped trying for the games after their series of total losses and only restarted recently. Based on intelligence gathered, ascension proved much safer than it used to be, with predominantly humans participating. Rumors from other settlements expined why.

  Humanity was a bit behind. Various odd outsider cultures and peoples now shared our pnet. In all honesty, they mostly ruled their little stretches of territory, primarily squabbling amongst each other and dismissing our species. Their settlements were fully Ascendant, probably why the games were so much safer – they were done with them. Worse yet, their familiarity with the System became increasingly evident. They carried well worked gear, often awakened, and showed far more variety in their crafts while dispying prodigious expertise in using their powers. Long story short, we were no match.

  Although Dragon Company in particur hadn’t yet been tested in that regard. I suspected us to be a cut above the average Joe. Syer squad at least, minus me.

  The crime syndicate met our crew while Jeb and I took position. Jeb lifted the head up over a shoulder, leaning slightly backwards, ready to take a stabilizing step. My palm gently pressed against the decapitated remainder, paired with a trailing crimson light in my eye. Aim-assist produced a trajectory, reserved for my vision only.

  “A little further, right now you’re going to hit the crowd.”

  “Got ya.”

  He adjusted his intent, shifting a little to get it right. The arc extended.

  “Ever so slightly to the left, then it’ll be perfect.”

  Jeb did as told, slowly the end-point moved until it reached the designated spot. “Right there,” I said.

  He held while the figures below appeared to argue for a moment, until Jen’s voice rang in his mind. He threw. Even from here, we heard faint remains of gasps echo off the cliff walls as the dragon head thumped down between Mel and ‘the Destroyer’. Dude was definitely on the slow side. Even as his allies thought to choose life, he stepped forwards, clearly intent on challenging Mel.

  That’s not who you’ll be fighting, buddy. Mel moved aside, making way for Jill. Her armored form, with giant dragonsteel halberhammeraxe in hand, exuded death incarnate. She wore Cleo’s spiked set, scarier that way. A clever observer might have noticed some missing parts, but such folk were all on our side from the looks of it. Big boy hesitated, but finally charged at the unwavering monster in front of him. As the moment closed, I wondered about his css. It seemed like he pnned to punch her, so power fighter, maybe a touchcaster, stupid either way.

  She obviously didn’t care. Right before impact, she blurred and took his head off in one clean slice. Those who carried weapons dropped them. They were rounded up and then summarily executed. A little bit of justice, as the public pretense. A little bit of removing potential issues, to mollify the cynical. Mostly however, they were of no use to us. Best to get the nasty business out of the way early. Or so we wanted them to think.

  Jeb cursed as he tossed me a coin, only one tenth full. “Damn it.”

  “Told you he wouldn’t st a second. Dude’s been coasting against trash. Jill’s Syer-One for a reason, the first solution to any violent problem.”

  “Ya wud’da thunk he’d put up a fight, big guy like that.”

  “It doesn’t matter how big they are nowadays, only how good.”

  “Ain’t that right. Still, he lived through the games.”

  “They didn’t have any looted gear of note. Probably grabbed a free portal at the end through sheer luck.”

  “Ya never told me that!”

  “I don’t gamble anymore Jeb, sure bets only.”

  “Eh, better that way I ‘spose.”

  “Indeed.”

  The shocking dispy worried the locals. A problem quickly remedied within the next few days. Endless bowls of porridge welcomed all to eat their fill. Previously fouled streams flowed clear and were widened further, monitored by guards freshly hired from the popuce, paid for with our seemingly bottomless riches. At the head of it all, seated within the unnatural castle resting against the mountainside, Dragon Company ruled with benevolence. Behind the scenes, a velvet glove came off and revealed an iron fist.

  Skill-shops were raided, stockpiles annexed and amoral ckeys repurposed. Some of it fouled our public image, but not by much. How could we be evil? After all, we rescinded all debt, freed the sves, exiled the troublemakers and employed the hopeless. Most of those who left simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. Others went by choice and I wished them well, brothers as they were. We’d see each other again, soon enough. A few conspicuous former refugees who remained received the special treatment. Nothing nasty, just very controlled. Mel’s campaign covered many aspects, not merely military ones. Our actions were but a small part of the grand effort.

  Within weeks, proper housing repced pstic-cup-sheet faves. For the interim, enchanted common houses sprang like mushrooms out of the ground, humanizing many for the first time since the end. The haunting days of starvation, suffering and oppression turned into mere memory, a bad dream ended by our hand.

  Word spread at the same time. For the adventurous, opportunity existed.

  Join Dragon Company.

  Tired of being powerless? Just look at the dragon head, mounted on a fucking pike. Remember how the previous tyrant's head rolled in the mud without even putting up a fight.

  Willing to take direction? Marvel at the organization, enough to feed a city of thousands. See how synergistically our employment of statlinks solved systemic issues.

  Looking to be part of something greater? Well, you’re in luck because we want you. There’s nothing special about us and we can teach you how to become like us, as one of us. We’ll train you, supply you, send you into the games with every possible advantage. Become Ascendant, like we all were.

  In fact, you’re te to the party. Just look at all these random Ascendant. They show up from far and wide, already intent on joining the best organization in the new world.

  Where else would you go, when there’s nothing but hostile, ever-escating wastend all around? Who else obliterated fortresses and slew dragons, even stealing the terror's likeness and name in sheer bravado? What had anyone else done, besides tolerate brutality and svery until we fixed that for you?

  No, there is only one path forward in the post apocalypse, and it’s ours.

  The message was implicit. Live with us.

  Rumors further augmented our recruitment drive and reputation, carefully spread by Jen and her ckeys. Although the entire inner circle contributed during our calcuted jaunts into the city, drinking at freshly built pubs, generously tipping and purchasing shit we didn’t need to cultivate propaganda no weary mind could resist. The war-stories told of great battles fought, of the hardships we suffered, how we overcame all the odds to rise on top. Those weren’t even lies. It didn’t stop there either.

  There are nds above, full of opportunity and the source of our unimaginable wealth.

  Get stronger? We have a thousand kilometers of curated leveling opportunities.

  Prefer to avoid violence? We have an endless need for gatherers, teamsters, administrators and everything else.

  Inclined to create? None had access to the kind of materials and knowledge we did. You think magisteel is special? Wait until you see dragonsteel.

  Value your independence? No worries, someone needs to run the city and it ain’t us. Prepare to control your own fate and help rebuild proper governance – just make sure not to get too uppity, such things were bad for your health, wink wink.

  Bloodthirsty? Well… Then we had the greatest opportunity of all. By the way, did you hear? Aliens are invading us, ciming our world for themselves. Doesn’t seem right, does it?

  Recim your birthright. Fight back alongside us.

  Reality remained unsaid, however. Die for us.

  Interspecies conflict had already spiraled out of control. The outsiders fought for territory and resources. Hell, they fought for shits ‘n’ giggles, if the stories were to be believed. We couldn’t ignore them for too long. They encroached on each other, dismissing humanity as a threat for the most part. Pockets of resistance still remained, of course. The only things in our favor were numbers, as the alien communities tended towards the smaller side.

  Still, the situation presented us something of a problem. The world refused to stop changing on us, apocalypse aside. Some of the invaders banded together, apparently reunited with long lost brethren or some such. Others renewed ancient conflict, as far as we heard. Power blocs shaped and formed, tensions escated with nothing to stop them. Options dwindled if we wanted to survive. They narrowed further if we wanted to matter. And we wanted to come out on top, cost be damned.

  As usual, Mel had presented her pn in a meeting. As had become typical, everyone in our band agreed. It was more of a formality than anything, everyone already knew. We needed to learn how they fought, how they functioned, and how they thought. What their strengths were and which weaknesses could be exploited. We had to face them in battle, to gauge their prowess. We had to earn favors, to avoid getting crushed. All the while, our riches had to grow, our libraries had to expand and our name had to rest on everyone’s lips. So no one thought to fuck with us.

  And so everything came full circle. It was a little bit funny if I thought about it, mostly ironic though.

  Before the end of everything, I worked as a sales consultant. Roughly one year post-Godstrike, I found myself in the same profession, like the rest of Dragon Company.

  Except now we sold our swords.