“You know, there are just some things that never change no matter where you are,” John said to a black-haired Aclysia, her preferred hair colour when in public, looking at the blue and yellow building in front of them. It was no masterpiece of design, basically just an arrangement of rectangles. Four letters, recognized pretty much all over the globe as the go-to place for cheap furniture, stretched over the wall: IKEA. “Globalism, hurray,” he added drily as they went inside.

“Are we not going to enter the barrier?” Aclysia asked as the two of them passed the reception and went into the guided labyrinth structure that was the inside of an Ikea. They didn’t know for sure they were on top of it; finding barriers was a skill Fateweavers had, but everyone else needed either the knowledge of where it was in the first place, some sort of visual entrance in the shape of doors or to just run around with the willingness to be pulled in the second they stepped over the border of one. That last one was somewhat dangerous, who knew who or what was inside a barrier.

This was also a reason as to why it had been quite easy for the Blood to create sleeper cells inside the Greater Empire. Fateweavers did not have a habit of going on scouting missions, not lucrative enough, and running into hideouts by just trying was extraordinarily rare. Especially since one needed to do that with a force that guaranteed them they would win.

The only watching missions Fateweavers had accepted in the past were over Leylines to point out when a natural had spawned nearby. That was basically the easiest job in the world (all they needed to do was to sit around and look at a landscape all day), and if they had a contract as to who they contacted first when something did spawn, it probably paid well too.

With the end of the globalized Fateweaver guild, that ought to change soon. ‘It’s pretty astounding how much everyone is reliant on Fateweavers to run operations effectively… guess that’s why they were one of the top 3 non-combatants.’

“We are a bit early and I hang around in fantasy settings so much these days that running through an Ikea sounds like a vacation,” John finally explained to Aclysia. “Gotta ground myself in reality for a bit, you could say.” He also still needed to redecorate most of the yacht, so he may as well get some ideas from here. Even if the quality of the furniture was far below what he would eventually buy, the design wasn’t bad at all.

“What do you think about these?” John asked picking up a wine glass from the display and holding it in a way that had the spherical part of it rest on his fingers and the rest point out from between middle and ring finger.

Before Aclysia could answer a sudden cry startled John. It was high-pitched and loud enough to ring through half the giant store. A sound terrible but heard in basically every public area of the country, which is why John hadn’t been subject to it in a while. A baby crying because… babies cried for all kinds of reasons, so he had no idea.

‘Why though?’ John asked himself, but the answer became rather apparent once he looked up from the window and at the glass in his hands. He had only tightened his grip a little bit, but the glass had cracks running through it now. It wasn’t broken, yet, but the stereotypical grandmother that stood right next to him was still astounded that it had happened. “Must have had an air bubble inside it or something,” he joked in an attempt to calm the old lady, “or I am secretly superman!”

“You look a bit thin for that, young man,” the grandmother answered in a similar tone. “Better get some meat on those bones.”

“I can guarantee you that he looks perfectly adequate underneath that suit,” Aclysia chimed in with a respectful nod. “Very muscular, he only has narrow shoulders and hips.”

“Oh, I had someone like that before, he was a boxer with a lot of stamina… good times!” the old lady gave a bit of a dirty laugh as she waved them goodbye. No words could express how thankful John was that he hadn’t encountered one of those lonely old people that did not stop talking once they got going.

‘Good to know that I can reduce the amount of punishment after the fact,’ John thought. There was a realistic limit to how much he could convince people of what was natural or not, but 5 was smaller than 20, so this was good.

“To answer your question, John,” Aclysia remarked as he carefully placed the glass were a clerk could see it, “I think that one is too plain, we should at least get something with a gold rim to show off your splendour.”

“A fair point,” John said and raised his hand. “Time to go to work.”

Immediately, the room around them transformed from a showcase kitchen into a room that sold little things made out of straw. Voodoo dolls, as John pretty quickly realized by the picture instructions hanging from the walls.

“Wow,” he mumbled, “I didn’t expect to enter where I stood. This thing doesn’t even have a predefined spawn in point?” Maybe he should have expected as much. This was one of the biggest ‘independent’ selling areas on the east side of the Hudson, but it was still run by some predatory loan shark.

“Gooooood day!” a man, whose skin looked like he was half in the grave already despite being a mere 30 years old, approached John in a creepily cheery tone. “Can I heeeeelp you?”

“Do you run this building?” the Gamer asked.

“Nooooo?”

“Can you point me at who does?”

“Yeeeeees… if you buy something!” John wasn’t sure he wanted to support this particular flavour of local business, but he also did not feel like making a fuss before he even got to who he wanted to talk to. He picked something at random and paid the man, who began to sweat as Aclysia, her hair turning to her normal white colour, continuously stared at him. Afterwards they got a name and a rough description of how to get there.

This was an economic community, one of many in New York, and like most of them it was corrupt to the core. Rules were enforced as was seen fit and the guy in charge was the one who had the most money and could pay the baddest dudes; regime changes usually happened quite frequently but this particular boss had stayed in power for quite a long time, ten years and counting.

Nevertheless, the clean and friendly atmosphere of Ikea was replaced with the scummy air of a black market where people smoked inside the building. John fixed his vest when he left the Voodoo shop and threw the weirdly glowing marble he had bought into a trash can that was standing around. A small explosion of green fire blew off the lid and left the metal can scorched on the inside. A hygienic improvement, John was sure.

The obvious question was why somebody would choose to hang out here rather than in the Ikea. He found the answer to be quite simple: the ability to use magic. There were little boxing shops were people that usually didn’t think with their heads were busy showing each other who was boss, shop owners who sold dubious stuff and customers who really wanted to play with that.

Quality of life seemed to be of little concern for these people, they just wanted to play with the power they had. Of course, there were also people that, because of physical changes to their bodies, couldn’t live in the real world anymore unless they had some heavy illusions active.

John: So, why exactly are you working with people like this?

Scarlett: I thought I already made it quite clear that I just don’t care?

Scarlett: I keep care of the scum in my organization by inviting them on the central committee and working them to death. I say I am doing more than my part.

That statement came as he turned towards a commotion, a shop owner being dragged out from behind the counter by two tall, brutish looking guys. Without a doubt because he didn’t pay enough or not in time or just because those two felt like throwing their weight around.

Scarlett: Treating his employees like this is obviously poison for a productive work atmosphere. They are his employees though, so I have no reason to step in.

Scarlett: If you smash them all, I stand to profit. A stable market is way more profitable in the long-term, especially if I fill the vacuum.

John: You can fill the vacuum, alright, but don’t forget that you work for me. That includes you adhering to the basic principles I establish.

Scarlett: That’s the deal.

He shook his head. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand that train of thought. No matter how much he cared, he couldn’t help everybody who was in a sub-optimal situation. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to like the disregard with which she treats this though,’ John thought and walked over to the scene of the crime. ‘Least I can do is face the evil in front of me.’

He arrived just in time to grab the arm of one of the brutes, raised to punch. “Do me a favour and bring me to your boss.” Obviously, he already knew the way, but he hoped that would be the easy way to bring this situation to an end.

“Piss off,” the brute cussed and ripped his arm out of John’s hold. He managed to make the Gamer stumble back one small step, right onto some slippery stain on the plastic floor that caused him to fall backwards quite inelegantly. The two brutes laughed at his awkward performance. “Oy, Brett, take care of that prole while I wrap this up.”

“Sure thing, Tetsh,” the second brute cracked with his knuckles and stepped towards the floored Gamer with violence in his eyes.

John’s mood was quite sour at that point, so he put the worst person for the job in charge. “Siena,” he said that single word, and his shadow expanded upwards into the shape of the beautiful sadist. The knifed tendrils sprouting from her back wrapped around the arm that was coming for her summoner.

A moment it looked like Siena would transform it straight into mincemeat, but when the tips of those knives drew the first drops of blood, she stopped. “How much fun can I have with this one?” she asked John.

“I am exceptionally proud that you took the time to ask,” John admitted as he got up. “Just a little, nothing too gruesome… by my standards.”

“Ah, so basically no fun at all,” Siena sultrily sighed and ducked under a horizontal swipe of Brett’s other arm. A low kick took the floor from under his feet. The tendrils dug some shallow wounds into his bound arm, and the second he hit the ground, Siena rammed the pointy heel of her foot into the palm of his other one. It wasn’t a pretty scene, but considering what she usually did, that narrow puncture wound was actually within the parameters John had set.

“What the fuck?!” Tetsh dropped the shop owner to attack John, who was busy checking if any of the floor was still sticking to his self-cleaning pants. He was stopped, once again, by someone grabbing his raised fist.

“I highly recommend you go along Master’s wishes,” Aclysia said. “Otherwise I am happy to inform you that I will break your arm for transgressions against him.”

“Fuck off,” the brute tried to rip free once again. Previously, he succeeded in that because Strength was John’s lowest Stat (Libido aside). That wasn’t quite the case with Aclysia. “Let me go, you silver-haired bitch!”

“Aclysia… do break his arm,” John told her, getting Undine ready.

“At once.” The weaponized maid obeyed and simply executed a chop. The result was the arm bending into a very flat v-shape and him screaming in pain, legs giving in. Aclysia let him fall on his knees.

“Wh-who are you?!” Tetsh asked as John went through the last motions of making sure his suit was still sitting well, in the form of straightening his collar and hat.

“John Newman,” he answered, and immediately the expression on their faces changed to reflect that they knew they had fucked up. “You probably should have led with that question,” he commented that development in a dry tone.

His right hand was enveloped by blue slime, the red markings of Undine’s scar running over it, and he reached down. To the uninitiated, that must have looked more like another attack than an act of healing, so it was no wonder that Tetsh tried to get away when he reached down. Maybe John grabbed the point where the man’s arm was broken a bit harsher than was necessary.

“Nobody,” he quietly but firmly said, withholding the healing as he wanted the pain to underline his words, “insults my girls like that, are we clear?” He didn’t like this course of action, but like every other time he was cruel, he thought it the necessary way to get his point across. Nobody noticed his disdain though; his acting skill had gotten quite good.

“Yes,” the brute answered and looked surprised and relieved when the healing energy flowed into his arm and fixed it back into the shape it belonged.

John gestured for Siena to retreat as well, causing a pained grunt from Brett when the heel was pulled from his hand. The muscular man did look defiant though, he had quite a bit of willpower despite the fact that he had been beaten handily. Not necessarily a bad trait, combined with the fact that he still grumbled, “Thanks,” after John healed him back up, it meant that he was at least aware of how the deck was stacked here.

“Now, to repeat my demand,” John stated.

“Do me a favour and bring me to your boss.”