Chương 7: A Planetary Worry

HIS son knew his way around a blade, that much was clear. Years of academy training were not wasted on him. And yet, his fighting style was not suited to front line fighting. Sure, Lance was unrelenting in his assaults, he knew when to pull back and when to strike, he even understood how to stand and fight an enemy in an attritions battle. Watching him, though, Warhol couldn't help but look at how he fought and deem his style as 'overly cautious,' defensive, even. This wasn't surprising.

Lance had always been too nice, too caring for his own good. That was why he pledged as a Paladin instead of a Sorcerer. Although, it might have been because of his healing factor, too? Perhaps the over-healing in his body somehow influenced his 'goodness,' for lack of a better term. It was common theory for arcane schools to posit, after all, that one had a core personality that was pre-set on birth and which could influence one's flow through life.

Lance's healing factor could be a boon from Cannabus, an insurance that someone with a naturally 'good' predisposition would be led toward the Paladin lifestyle... Warhol groaned. All powerful though he may be, he still worried like a father. He still knew little of the cosmic workings of the Celestial Pantheon which governed reality. For now. Had the course of their lives been different, it wouldn't have mattered that Lance had a defensive fighting method.

In many situations, that would even be a boon, especially during team-based adventuring. That was the thing, of course. The situation they found themselves in now, with a Cosmic Horror coming closer to their home by the day, wasn't a typical team-based adventure. It was something no one, not even he, the all-mighty 'Savior of All' had faced. And in his heart-of-hearts, he wondered, would he be enough? Would his training be enough to ensure his son survived the coming slaughter? A worry filled his heart.

He had to do more. For, even if he won against the Cosmic Horror, even if he sent it back to the inferno in a billion little pieces, what would it matter if Lance died, if trillions throughout creation, died? If the world was rendered into a gigantic puss-pile, what would be the point? He had to help. He had to do more than sit on his arse and float in the air, watching his son, like some dick. But what could he do? After his...

incident, there wouldn't be a defense organization on the planet who would work with him. For good reason, of course. But still. A mountainous sigh escaped from him. He could spend all his life moping, and it wouldn't help him one bit. He had to swallow his pride. [Teleport]: in an instant, he was half-way across the world. He was floating in front of the Planetary Defense Building in the nation of Morrow. A massive fortress he once reduced to rubble. And then, the warning sirens screamed. Love this story?

Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! FRANK heard the alarm and felt a chill leap down his spine. The last time that alarm went off, his world changed. A man he considered a friend, a true hero, even, betrayed them, and massacred legions of blessed, warriors who had dedicated their hearts and souls to the holiest of the Gods. What could it be this time? An assault from portal-hoping demons? Alien-folk from the moon looking to abduct people en mass?

Or maybe it was his 'old friend' back for another round. Or even a new terror? Did he dare ask? Frank grabbed his spear and his shield. Whatever this new threat was, he would face it with honor, like a Paladin should! He rushed outside and scanned the horizon but saw nothing.

"Report in!" he shouted to any soldier nearby.

"Who set the alarm off?"

"Aye, sir — look!" one of his subordinates yelled and pointed to the air.

"Up there!" Now that the man had indicated the threat, he knew why the alarms had been set off. There he was, the Omni-Wizard himself, hovering in the air, 'standing' before their mighty fortress as if a child before a sandcastle. He swallowed hard.

"Turn the alarm down to the third stratum." Frank ordered.

"Observe my interaction. Should I fall, set the alarm high and return fire!" His will obeyed, the sirens fell silent. Frank walked into the middle of a large, openair courtyard before the building's public-facing facade. He stared upwards to his onetime friend and called for them.

"I know you can hear me, Warhol! Spare us the theatrics and come down so we can talk! I shan't ask you again!" In the blink of an eye, Warhol stood before him. Frank gasped and stepped back but reasserted himself before any of his guards saw. Warhol saw, of course, but his ex-friend no longer factored as a candidate worthy of attention. Warhol's expression was inscrutable as ever. When he spoke, though, that was what took Frank's edge away as if it never had existed.

"I need your help, old friend." They spoke as if history had not happened. As if they were asking him to an afternoon beer. Frank would not fall for it.

"I am not your friend. If I gave you any indication that I still was, let me rectify that and say, unabashedly, and without reserve, that you and I are NOT friends in any way, shape or form! Now, what do you want?!" Warhol's shoulders shrugged. Not much, but a little, as if a dragonfly had landed on him and he had shooed it away.

"You've read the reports from the Worldly Council. You should know why I am here... the Cosmic Horror? Ring a bell?"

"I am aware of it, yes, and we have our best men and women on it. We're scouring every library known to man and assembling the best Techy-Mag engineers to build us the very best of defensive equipment." Frank explained.

"That and we have launched an unprecedented diplomatic effort to bring the nations of the world into cooperation with each other. I think we will be fine, Warhol." The Omni-Wizard smiled.

"No, you will not."

"What do you mean, we won't be fine?" Frank stood his ground.

"If you're going to pop in and terrify everyone with your speech, you can at least do us the bother of foregoing on the cryptic nonsense!"

"A Cosmic Horror is beyond any threat this planet's faced, Frank. You're not going to overcome it by creating an even bigger magi-stone bomb or fostering unity between two rival nations. You, and everyone else, needs something bigger, something that will unite everyone and everything in unprecedented solidarity. I know what that thing is, I think, but I am going to need your help in reaching out to folks." Warhol spoke in a calm way, as if he hadn't, a couple of years ago, leveled this city and killed thousands.

An anger welled up in him. His fists balled up. He wanted to strike his former friend but pulled the urge back.

"And why should I help you?"

"Because you're a pragmatic man, Frank. Always have been, always will be, and you know these 'diplomatic' efforts aren't going to generate the results we need to stand a chance against a threat like this... listen, you can take credit for this if you want, I really don't care. But we need to do more." He didn't want to listen to Warhol. Yet he knew the man was right. Something more was needed. A drastic something, if the data he received was correct. He sighed.

"Come. Enter the Sanctum and we will talk. Be warned — we've made some improvements since last time."