[Hogun - POV]
I sat alone in the guest chamber, far from the clinking glasses and forced laughter of the banquet hall. The wine was too sweet, the smiles too sharp, and the girls—too many. My head throbbed from trying to manage mafia politics and the weaponized affection of emotionally unstable angels and assassins.
I just wanted five minutes of silence.
No Dons.
No chaos.
Just peace.
But fate, it seems, had other plans.
The air grew cold—unnaturally so. A flicker of something passed through the corner of my eye. Before I could even stand, a translucent specter lunged at me, screeching like a tortured violin string.
I ducked.
Reflexes kicked in. I pivoted on one heel and delivered a swift, glowing roundhouse to the ghost's netherworldly family jewels.
The result was immediate.
The ghost let out a scream so high-pitched and piercing it shattered every piece of glass in the room—vases, mirrors, light fixtures. Even the chandelier cried out and fell with a thunk.
The door slammed open behind me.
[Red]: What the hell is going on—?!
They burst in, guards behind them, weapons half-drawn—just in time to witness me raising my foot again.
I delivered a second kick straight to the spectral groin, sending the poor wraith crawling away in wheezing agony. It whimpered like a haunted kettle.
[Red]: You… you just kicked a ghost in the balls.
[Queen]: Hogun, are you okay?!
[Hogun]: I was just trying to rest. I didn't ask for ghost jujutsu.
The ghost groaned and faded through the wall, probably to reconsider his unlife choices.
I sat back down on the couch, shattered glass crunching underfoot.
[Hogun]: …Next person who disturbs me is getting suplexed into the afterlife.
[Red]: Remind me not to bring you tea…
[Queen]: Do you want us to deal with the ghost or send in a priest?
[Hogun]: Send both. And some damn coffee.
They sent a priest. He arrived in the usual fashion—long robes, golden staff, holy water in vials, and a calm smile that said, "I can handle this." Nice enough guy. Or so I thought.
Until I caught him slipping poison into my coffee.
I blinked slowly, stared at the steaming cup, then looked back at him.
[Hogun]: You know, I've dealt with cursed swords, haunted libraries, and lovesick archangels, but I draw the line at bad coffee.
He dropped the act instantly. Robes came off like a curtain drop. Beneath it—black Ursus assassin armor, lined with red stitching. He lunged with a dagger that crackled with cursed ice.
Too slow.
I side-stepped and drove my boot up into his groin with the full wrath of eight generations of righteous fury.
[CRUNCH.]
The assassin froze. Eyes wide. Dagger hit the floor. His voice became a high-pitched whistle.
[Hogun]: You're not a ghost. You're not a priest. You're just another idiot who thought kicking me while I'm tired was a good idea.
He collapsed, twitching.
I sighed and picked up the communicator.
[Hogun]: Red. Queen. I need someone to clean up the floor. And maybe a second cup of coffee. One that isn't death-flavored.
[Red]: So… that priest wasn't holy?
[Queen]: Holy? No. Hole-y after that kick? Probably.
I rubbed my eyes and looked down at the groaning assassin.
[Hogun]: Welcome to Siracusa. Try the espresso. Die trying.
As I stepped out into the Siracusan night, trying to enjoy what little peace I had left, I felt it—the distinct whisper of a bullet slicing through the air. My instincts screamed. I tilted my head. The shot grazed my cheek.
Oh, hell no.
I looked up and locked eyes with the shooter—black cloak, Ursus armor, the shimmer of a sniper scope reflecting moonlight. She bolted across the rooftops.
[Hogun]: Why is it always rooftops…
I dashed through the alleys, leaping over crates and dodging stray cats. My boots slammed onto a fire escape, and I launched myself onto the roof just in time to catch her mid-leap. She was fast, but I was faster—and far more pissed.
I slid in low and drove my steel-toed boot upward with perfect precision.
[CRACK.]
The assassin let out a shriek that echoed across the rooftops and dropped like a sack of potatoes, twitching and growling. As I stood over her, she pulled off her mask—fiery red eyes, Ursus insignia, and venom in every word.
[Ursus Assassin]: You barbarian! You uncultured trash heap! You kicked a woman!
I rolled my eyes and shrugged.
[Hogun]: I believe in gender equality… Especially when people are shooting at me.
She groaned and tried to crawl away. I dragged her back by the collar.
[Hogun]: That's three assassins in one night. You people really need to try something new—maybe a fruit basket or a singing telegram.
[Red]: Did you just kick another one?
[Queen]: ...Wait. Wasn't this one a girl?
[Hogun]: Equality. Justice. Gravity. All hit the same way.
[Queen]: I'm adding 'Groin Kicks of Justice' to your list of special attacks.
[Red]: Let's get her to the cells. And remind the Dons we said 'no funny business' until after brunch.
[Hogun]: At this point, I want a week off and a beach. And no one with a knife.
[Queen]: Then stop looking so kickable.
[Later...]
We left Siracusa and headed to Laterano to meet the Pope, and problems already started.
[Red]: Hogun, you need to rest. Please. You dropped unconscious six times—HEY, PUT THE PAD DOWN.
My hands were trembling over the screen, eyes red-rimmed and half-lidded. My body screamed for sleep, but my brain wouldn't listen. The citadel's systems, defense grids, city-wide energy consumption, personnel logistics… if I didn't sign off on these now, a traffic jam could turn into a riot, and a food delivery delay into a political crisis. Even on a diplomatic trip, I was the lynchpin of a thousand moving parts.
[Queen]: Hogun. Go. To. Sleep. I'll take your place.
[Hogun]: Too bad the pad needs my fingerprints and bio-signature. Can't fake that. Besides, I can't just spawn an office worker like this—
I raised my tool gun and lazily pointed it at the ground.
BZZT
A bureaucrat in a stiff white shirt spawned with a thud, looking dazed and holding a clipboard.
[Office Worker]: Sir? What day is it?
I blinked. Didn't the tool gun say the server was full?
Another shot. BZZT Another office worker appeared, this one holding a cup of coffee and a cat plushie.
[Queen]: Hogun… why do you have the ability to summon employees mid-travel?
[Hogun]: Legacy admin permissions. Don't worry, I'll despawn them in a minute.
[Red]: You have weaponized HR.
After spawning half a dozen confused office workers and giving them remote tasks back at the Citadel—paperwork routing, traffic signal syncing, baker's union negotiations—I finally slumped against the train cabin wall.
[Queen]: There. Now sleep.
[Hogun]: Just five… more forms…
My head dropped. The pad fell from my lap. Red caught it.
[Red]: He's out cold.
[Later…]
I groaned awake, eyelids heavy as stone. The ceiling above me was familiar—Citadel architecture, reinforced steel with a hint of obsidian shimmer. My bed felt like heaven compared to the train bench. I turned my head slightly, and nearly jumped.
[Red] stood beside me, arms crossed, glowing faintly with a literal halo hovering above his head.
[Hogun]: Why do you look like you got baptized by a solar flare?
From the corner of the room came a muffled wheeze. Queen, who had been quietly hiding in the shadows with a datapad in hand, burst into laughter so hard she fell sideways onto the carpet, clutching her ribs.
[Queen]: You missed it—oh god, you missed everything! The Pope baptized him! Red! In front of the Laterano High Assembly! It was livestreamed to the entire Citadel!
[Red]: Against my will, I should add.
[Queen]: He was literally glowing, Hogun! Like—divine light glowing. Even the Pope was shocked. Declared him a saint on the spot. People are already calling him 'Saint Red of the Brick.'
I turned to look at the infamous brick, sitting peacefully beside my pillow as if it too had witnessed something holy.
[Hogun]: ...We really need to keep the cameras out of these meetings.
We all laughed. Loud, uninhibited laughter that shook the room. The kind that came from too many sleepless nights, too many close calls, and too much absurdity crammed into too little time.
[Red]: Alright, alright, laugh it up. But since I've apparently achieved divine rank, how about you download the Fate Mode module?
I blinked.
[Queen]: You… want to gacha roll in real life?
[Red]: Exactly. Think about it—we have the server, we have the permissions, and with that throne, we could potentially summon legendary heroes to aid the Citadel.
[Hogun]: You were declared a saint for ten minutes, and this is the first thing you ask for?
[Red]: Yes. That halo has changed me.
[Queen]: Changed you into a weeb with divine gacha addiction?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhausted but intrigued. The idea was insane… but technically possible. The Tool Gun had dimensional script-loading permissions. If we converted a zone into a Fate-compatible battleground, used Mythos Protocols for identity imprinting, and fed in enough mana—
No. No, no, no.
[Hogun]: I'd need to rewrite the summoning code, create a stable spiritual leyline, and load the Grail template. That would take weeks.
[Red]: So you're saying there's a chance.
[Queen]: You do realize if we summon a Heroic Spirit with actual ego, they may not follow you.
[Hogun]: Oh, they'll follow. I'll just add a friendliness slider.
[Queen]: You terrify me.
[Hogun]: Ruling a place like this changes a man.
I stood, still in my half-buttoned uniform, brushing my fingers over the glowing interface of the wall screen. The Citadel shimmered in the hologram zones under construction, expanding cities, shifting borders. It never stopped growing.
[Hogun]: Also… I'm sending you two back to your capitals.
[Queen]: Wait, you're kicking us out?
[Hogun, smirking]: I'm reminding you of your actual responsibilities. Horses City and the Secret Cove won't build themselves. Besides… your presence here is becoming a liability.
[Red]: You wound me.
[Hogun]: No, you wound the city. Repeatedly. A certain group from your city has declared gang war on the government-sanctioned mafias.
[Queen]: That's… vaguely on brand for us.
[Hogun]: Another group—also yours—has set up tents in the middle of the street and are trying to kidnap women for forced marriages. In broad daylight.
[Red]: Okay, that one wasn't us, that was the Romantic Knights division—
[Hogun]: They're wearing your colors.
[Queen]: To be fair, you gave them a flag.
[Hogun]: The point is, over 50% of the Citadel's current problems trace back to your people. That's not governance—that's babysitting with a combat rating.
[Red]: And if we fix it…?
[Hogun]: Then I'll download Fate Mode. Full grail protocol, Demi-Throne of Heroes, localized summoning array—no limits.
Both of them froze.
[Queen]: ...You serious?
[Red]: I've never been more motivated to build public infrastructure in my life.
[Queen]: I'm going to conscript half my nobles into sanitation just to qualify.
[Hogun]: Good. Fix your cities. Clean up your people. And maybe—just maybe—you'll earn the right to roll for King Arthur.
[Red]: I want Iskandar.
[Queen]: Medea. No questions asked.
I rolled my eyes and tossed the brick beside me onto the bed, exhaling slowly.
[Hogun]: Also… one more thing.
I pulled out my tool gun and spawned a stack of shining gold bars in front of them—elegant, refined, stamped with emblems from another world. The weight of value hung heavy in the air.
[Hogun]: Red, Queen… tell me what you see.
[Queen]: A great booty.
[Red]: Gold for the horde.
Both of them blinked. Silence. Then they turned to stare at each other, confused, surprised by what had just come out of their mouths.
[Hogun]: Exactly what I feared.
I walked to the side, grabbed a small metal mug, and poured hot water from the kettle I'd summoned earlier. Then I ripped open a cheap instant coffee packet—those paper-thin, desperate soldier rations—and stirred it in. The dark liquid swirled, clouding the water entirely.
[Hogun]: This cup is us. The water is who we were—the people who logged into the game. Real, distinct, simple. And this—
I held up the packet,
[Hogun]: —is the persona, the character, the legend we built. We thought it was just roleplay.
I set the coffee down.
[Hogun]: But mix them? There's no separating them again. We're not just playing Hogun, Red, and Queen anymore. We are becoming them. Thought patterns, instincts, reactions—our personalities are being overwritten.
[Queen]: That's why I sometimes wake up with Angelica's voice in my head.
[Red]: And I almost yelled 'For the Iron Fang Legion' when I stubbed my toe.
[Hogun]: That gold? Your old selves would've said 'a strong investment,' 'future security,' or at worst 'liquid assets.' But now—'great booty' and 'horde.' You're thinking like your avatars.
They stared at the gold again, this time with a little unease.
[Hogun]: The longer we're in this world… the blurrier the line gets.
[Queen]: So if we stay too long…
[Hogun]: Eventually, we won't be the players. Just the characters.
Red crossed his arms, brow furrowing.
[Red]: So what do we do? Go back?
[Hogun]: We can't. And even if we could… would we really want to go back to those old lives?
They both went quiet.
[Hogun]: But the answer's actually simple. Red spent a hundred years in another world and didn't change. Why? Because that world didn't mesh him with his avatar. Only this one does. The merge—the loss of self—it only happens here. The others... are safe zones.
I took a slow sip of the coffee, the bitter warmth grounding me—Hogun's preferred brand, fortunately. Guess that part was a win.
[Hogun]: The more traits you share with your character, the easier it is to blend. And the deeper the blend, the more likely you are to lose track of who you were.
I set the mug down and handed the tool gun to Red and Queen.
Red tapped the tool gun and let out a small sigh as his formal business suit shimmered away, replaced by the familiar layered armor of his usual skin. But the tall Mongolian hat flickered back into place with it.
[Red]: Damn hat.
He yanked it off like it had personally offended him and tossed it onto the nearest table.
[Red]: A hundred years and I still can't figure out how to delete this thing from the loadout…
Queen followed, her sleek black dress of the 'Black Silence Angelica' cosplay vanishing in a shimmer of code, replaced by her signature look—equal parts imposing and chaotic, but unmistakably her. She flicked her hair and stretched, as if getting back into her real skin.
[Queen]: Honestly? The cosplay was fun, but I missed this.
I smirked and tapped the tool gun myself, returning to the gritty, armored bulk of General Hogun—gas mask in place, cape fluttering slightly as I settled into my original form.
[Hogun]: Better. This is who we are.
I looked at the others. For the first time in a while, they looked like themselves, not just in skin, but in spirit.
The Citadel might be chaotic. The world around us might keep throwing ghosts, assassins, and divine interventions at our heads. But for now? We were grounded again.
And that would have to be enough.
[Chapter end]