Chapter 72: The Continental Factions Unify
The emergency summit had been called with less than six hours’ notice, and still every seat at the table was full.
That, by itself, told Director Elena Voss everything she needed to know about how seriously the world was taking this.
Ten guild leaders. Ten flags. Ten factions that, under any other circumstances, would rather negotiate territory disputes at gunpoint than sit in the same room together. The North American Vanguard Coalition. The European Concord. Three separate East Asian guild-states who hadn’t agreed on anything since the apocalypse began. Two African continental alliances who’d spent the last four months disputing a shared border dungeon. A South American consortium. An Australian outpost network that usually didn’t bother showing up to these things at all.
And, sitting near the head of the table with the calm, tired expression of someone who’d stopped being surprised by anything, Meera Kapoor — representing not a nation, but the closest thing anyone had to firsthand testimony.
"Let’s start simple," said the North American delegate, a broad-shouldered man named Director Hall, tapping the tablet in front of him where the broken leaderboard readout still glowed faintly. "Somebody explain to me how a stat sheet exceeds its own error handling. I’ve had four separate analysts tell me that’s not a bug. That’s not a formatting issue. The number is real. It just doesn’t fit anywhere."
"Because it isn’t supposed to fit anywhere," Meera said. "I watched him erase an S-rank anomaly with a yawn. Actual yawn. Mouth open, stretched, done. The Hollowed Warden had survived three prior extermination attempts by top-tier guilds. He beat it while looking mildly tired."
A murmur went around the table — the particular kind of murmur that came from people who’d read the report and still hadn’t quite believed it until hearing it said out loud by someone who’d been in the room.
"With respect," said the senior East Asian delegate, a sharp-eyed woman representing the Ashford-Wen guild-state, "eyewitness accounts have been unreliable before. Panic distorts perception."
"I’ve reflected artillery," said a new voice from further down the table — General Iyer, invited as a courtesy given his firsthand encounter. "Personally witnessed. A militia colonel brought tanks to that building. The shells didn’t just miss. They turned around mid-flight and went home. I have the footage, if anyone still needs convincing."
Nobody asked to see the footage. Everyone in the room had already seen it. That was, in fact, the entire reason this meeting existed.
Director Voss let the murmuring settle before speaking. "The point of this summit isn’t to relitigate what he’s capable of. We have redundant, independently verified data confirming his combat output exceeds every measurement tier this Framework has ever built. The point is deciding what we do about a nineteen-year-old who just, functionally, became the single largest unregulated power source on the planet."
"Regulated by whom?" Hall asked pointedly. "You’ve read the same file I have. He turned down Supreme Commander. Turned down guild leadership — twice, if the Crimson Blade reports are accurate. The man has no ambition. No political affiliation. No apparent interest in territory, resources, or influence."
"That," said the African alliance delegate quietly, a woman named Nomsa Dlamini who’d flown in overnight from a continent that had lost three major cities to Calamities in the last two months, "is precisely why this is dangerous. Not because of what he wants. Because of what happens if something else wants to use him. Or replace him. Or, worse—" she gestured at the broken leaderboard readout, still glowing faintly on every screen in the room, "—provoke whatever administrative force just tried to erase him and failed."
That landed heavier than anything said so far. The room went quiet.
Because that was the part nobody wanted to say out loud first: if the Global Administrative Framework — the actual architecture running the apocalypse — considered Ethan Verma a critical, unpatched threat significant enough to attempt direct intervention, then whatever happened next wasn’t going to stay contained to one apartment building in one unnamed Indian district.
It was going to be everyone’s problem.
"So what’s the proposal," Voss said finally. "Because I assume that’s why we’re all actually here."
Hall leaned forward. "A joint continental delegation. Every faction represented sends observers — not soldiers, not an invasion force, just qualified envoys — to the Citadel. We get direct answers. Is he stable. Is he a threat. Is he something the Framework can still target, or has he already outgrown that possibility entirely."
"And if he refuses to meet with us?" Ashford-Wen asked.
Meera, who’d been quiet for a while, allowed herself the faintest, tired smile.
"He won’t refuse," she said. "He just won’t rush. There’s a difference, and it’ll matter more than you think. Don’t send anyone who can’t handle being told to come back after breakfast."
Several delegates exchanged glances that suggested they thought she was joking. Voss, who had read every single report on file twice, did not share their confusion.
"Vote," she said instead. "Joint delegation. Show of hands."
Ten hands went up. It was, by a wide margin, the fastest unanimous decision any of them had reached on anything in the last six months.
News of the Continental Unification Summit reached the Citadel roughly forty minutes before the actual delegation did, courtesy of Priya Malhotra bursting into Room 404 without knocking, phone already extended.
"Ten guilds," she said, slightly out of breath. "Ten. Continental factions. They agreed on something. Do you understand how insane that is? The European Concord and the East Asian guild-states haven’t agreed on lunch orders."
Ethan, lying face-down on the couch with one arm dangling off the edge and a half-eaten sandwich balanced precariously on his back, didn’t lift his head.
"Agreed on what," he mumbled into the cushion.
"Sending a delegation. Here. To talk to you. About—" she gestured broadly, encompassing the entire concept, "—all of this."
"When."
"Today. Possibly within the hour."
Ethan finally lifted his head, dislodging the sandwich, which the tea golem caught with a small brass claw before it could hit the floor — a reflex the little machine had developed sometime around the third time this exact scenario had happened.
"Today," Ethan repeated, flat.
"Today."
He let his head fall back against the cushion with a soft, defeated thump.
[NOTICE: An organized continental delegation, representing ten of the planet’s most powerful hunter factions, is currently en route to the subject’s residence.]
[The system would like to note that this is, historically speaking, an enormous diplomatic event. Wars have been prevented by less cooperation than this. Alliances have been forged over decades that didn’t achieve this level of unity in a single afternoon.]
[The system would also like to note that the subject appears to be considering this in terms of nap scheduling.]
"Can I at least finish the sandwich first," Ethan said, to no one in particular, muffled through the couch cushion.
Priya stared at him. "Ethan. Ten continental factions. Unified. Coming here. Because of you."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time." He sat up slowly, rubbing his face, and reached over to reclaim his sandwich from the golem’s careful grip. "I’m just saying, if they’re gonna show up and want a whole meeting, I’d like to at least have eaten something first. Diplomacy on an empty stomach never goes well."
Priya opened her mouth, closed it, and then, because there genuinely wasn’t a better response available, sat down heavily in the nearest chair.
"You are the single most powerful being to walk this planet since the apocalypse began," she said, mostly to herself, "and you’re worried about a sandwich."
"The sandwich isn’t going anywhere," Ethan said reasonably, taking a bite. "The delegation, unfortunately, will."
Outside, past the shielded dome of the Citadel, ten banners — ten flags representing every major surviving power structure left on Earth — were already visible on the horizon, moving steadily closer, carried by envoys who had no idea they were about to be told, quite politely, to wait.