Master of the System

Vremya rummaged through the bag Pravos had given him. The fast-time world had been open for one day, and according to the god of justice, things went pretty well. The results were satisfactory too. The items he obtained couldn’t be bought with money. He put the bag down by the foot of the couch, treating the sack like a bag of dirty laundry rather than a bag of priceless treasures. He leaned back and stretched his feet out, resting them on the coffee table in front of him.

Karta eyed the bag of treasures, but she didn’t make a move to get out of her spot on the couch. “Anything nice in there?”

Vremya grunted. “Pretty nice. They’ll be useful for my system.”

Karta smacked her lips. “You’ve been working on that thing all day,” she said. “You really think it’ll be better than the ones that already exist? Gods have been playing with systems for eons. Everything good has already been done. You should read the post the god of math created. Theoretically, Dvizhen’s leveling system is the most efficient one when it comes to creating immortals.”

“And before Dvizhen created his system, there was another system that was the most efficient,” Vremya said and snorted. “There’s always progress. I’ve read that post you were talking about, and new things have popped up since the god of math wrote it.”

Karta shrugged. “For an old man, you’re surprisingly progressive.”

Vremya scratched his head. Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? He wasn’t sure. Before he could respond, there was a whirring sound, and a letter cut through the air. It stopped in front of Vremya, floating just within reach. A furrow appeared on Vremya’s brow. Although he had relaxed his barrier because Kosmos had given up, that didn’t mean all the defenses in his world was gone, but the letter had made it past regardless. “For me?”

“Who’s it from?” Karta asked. Even though she was curious, she still wasn’t motivated enough to sit up from her spot. It was too dang comfy, and she didn’t even have to hustle anymore. Without any worries about money, she found herself becoming just a tiny bit more lazy. Of course, she wouldn’t admit it if anyone asked.

Vremya took the letter, and the furrow in his brow deepened even further. He had seen the wax symbol holding the paper shut once before. Dvizhen had worn a badge with the same exact image. Vremya created a small barrier around the envelope. Then, he put a barrier around his hands. After taking all the necessary precautions, he tore the paper open. A letter with formal-looking handwriting slid out. Vremya glanced at it. It wasn’t that long, only half a page at most. His eyes narrowed as he crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it into the trash. “The council of primordial gods wants me to shut down my new business.”

Karta tilted her head. “Did they give a reason?”

“It breaks the balance of our current society,” Vremya said and rolled his eyes. “As if society was balanced in the first place.”

“Breaks the balance?” Karta snorted. “All primordial gods are broken.” She cleared her throat upon seeing Vremya stare at her. “I mean, look! Compare a primordial god to a snack god. The things they can do compared to the things we can do, it’s not even a comparison!”

Vremya nodded and reached into his fanny pack. He pulled out a lit match and tossed it into the trash, incinerating the already-crumpled letter. There were faint traces of divinity on the paper, and he didn’t want some foreign scent lingering in his home. As for the council’s request? Obviously, he was going to ignore it. He already made a deal with his customers and took their stuff, and he wasn’t in the habit of losing things he owned.

A moment later, space cracked open, and a metal sphere rolled through. The god of enforcement looked around, its eyes sliding across its body like hockey pucks. “You again?” the metal ball asked upon seeing Vremya. Before Vremya could reply, a line of golden text appeared on the ball’s surface. “Oh. You’ve broken the law. Burning the primordial gods’ council’s decree comes with a fine of ten thousand heaven-grade spirit stones.”

Vremya narrowed his eyes at the metallic ball. “What’s the fine for launching the god of enforcement a trillion years into the future?”

The metallic sphere froze. Usually, faint traces of light would ripple along its surface like a heartbeat, but now, it was completely clear. “There’s no laws against doing that…,” the ball said, its words coming out at a turtle’s pace. “But you, uh, probably don’t want to do that. Right?”

***

A short, plump man was sitting behind a desk. He was wearing a top hat with a buckle in it, making his figure somewhat resemble a leprechaun’s. A large, curled feather was attached to the hat. The bird it belonged to must’ve been massive because the feather itself was taller than the god wearing it. Other than the fancy hat, the man was also wearing a light-blue suit with frills.

“Istoriya,” a voice said from outside the room.

The plump man raised his head, turning his attention away from the miniature display resting on his lap. “Come in.”

An octopus walked into the room, using two of its tentacles as legs. The other six tentacles were holding onto writing utensils and documents. Istoriya preferred hiring multi-limbed creatures over humanoid ones because their work efficiency was much higher. The octopus bobbed its body up and down before opening its beak. “The god of time burned the letter sent to him. He also erased the god of enforcement from existence. Not even Poisk can find him.”

Istoriya stood up and approached the tall mirror in the corner of his room. While admiring his own appearance, he narrowed his eyes in thought. The god of time was a primordial god, yet the god refused to join the council. Not only that, but the pesky god of time had also interfered with his plans once before by getting rid of Dvizhen. Even before that occurred, Istoriya’s plan to get rid of the god of ice cream had been ruined by Vremya’s unplanned appearance at the snack gods’ meeting. Vremya’s name had cropped up on Istoriya’s radar three separate times, and all three times, the god of time stood on the other side of him. It seemed like the two were destined to be enemies—that’s why Istoriya had sent the decree to Vremya in the first place. “Dvizhen and the god of enforcement are likely waiting for us in the future,” Istoriya said and turned away from the mirror, focusing his attention onto his secretary. “Since the past is now my domain, the future’s the only place they could’ve been sent to.” Istoriya waved his hand. “You’re dismissed.”

The octopus bowed, its beak almost touching the ground, and walked out of the room while maintaining its low posture. Once the door closed, Istoriya furrowed his brow and bit down on his thumbnail, chewing it while muttering to himself. It was difficult to take down a primordial god, but it had been done many times in history. The god of combat was a primordial god, but didn’t he die, allowing the weapon and martial gods to be born? The god of food was also a primordial god, but she died too. There were many examples in history of primordial gods being slain, and when it came to understanding history, no one was better at it than Istoriya. It wouldn’t be that hard for him to make history repeat itself.