Master of the System

A black Labrador Retriever, a metal ball with magnets for eyes, and a naked old man walked into a bar. It was empty save for the wooden counter and five stools in front of it. While Vremya was examining the room, flames exploded behind the counter, and a young monk appeared, his robes made of fire. “Welcome to Pozhar’s Bar!” the monk said and swept his gaze over the three guests. His face fell upon seeing the metal ball. “God of Enforcement? I haven’t broken any rules this past decade; if you try to fine me, I swear I’ll melt you and forge your body into a bedpan.”

The metal ball rolled its eyes. “I’m not here to fine you today, surprisingly. There’s been an issue with the hidden world you’ve sold to the god of potato chips.”

“Issue?” the monk asked, locking his gaze onto Vremya. “Who’s this?”

“That’s Vremya, the god of time,” the metal ball said. “He created the hidden world that you sold to her.” The ball gestured towards Karta with its eyes. “Thus, he’s the true owner of that hidden world, meaning you’ve sold a stolen good. Since Vremya reclaimed his land, Kartofel wants her money back.”

Wordlessly, the monk reached deep into his robes and pulled out a red pouch. He placed it on the counter and slid it towards the Labrador Retriever. Karta bit the bag and swallowed it, answering Vremya’s unasked question of how she was going to pick things up without thumbs. The monk glanced at the metal ball. “Is there anything else?”

Golden lines appeared on the ball’s surface, and its eyes went wild, skidding along the text. After a moment, the lines faded, and the ball’s eyes came to a stop. “Yes, Vremya wants his origin tree back.”

The monk sighed and sat down, gesturing for his guests to take a seat as well. “Vremya,” the monk said and waved his hand. A clear bottle filled with red liquid flew off the shelf behind the monk and landed on the countertop. After the three guests sat down and the monk poured drinks for each of them, he cleared his throat. “About that origin tree…, I didn’t realize it was so picky, and shortly after transplanting it, it died. How about I compensate you with something else?”

Vremya’s eyes widened. “You killed Sticky!?”

The monk winced. “You named it?”

“Of course!”

Karta leaned over and whispered to the metal ball, “What’s an origin tree?”

The metal ball leaned over as well, rolling its body slightly towards the black dog. “You know what an origin fruit is, right? The tree produces them.”

Karta’s eyes widened, and she slammed her paw against the countertop, causing the liquid in the glasses to jump. “You blasphemous monk! You actually killed an origin tree!? Do you know how valuable an origin tree is? Money literally grows on it! Why don’t you take out your spirit stones and burn them while you’re at it?”

“Look,” the monk said, one hand holding his bald head. “I didn’t want the tree to die either, okay? I just got drunk one night, and I couldn’t find the bathroom, so I peed on the tree. It was an accident, alright? It could happen to anyone.”

Vremya’s eyes twitched. A day after he was born, he had found an origin tree and eaten one of its fruit. It was delicious. From that day forward, he swore to always keep the tree by his side, even giving it a name after much thought. Who knew that when he went to sleep, someone would kill Sticky by peeing on it? Vremya took in a deep breath and pointed at Pozhar, the god of fire. “I’m not a fan of violence, but I have no choice! Sticky must be avenged.” Vremya concentrated his energy on the tip of his finger. “One Finger Lifted, One Life in an Instant! Die!”

The Labrador Retriever, the young monk, and the metal ball stared at the naked old man. Nothing happened. Vremya furrowed his brow. He pointed at Pozhar with his middle finger as well, both his fingertips glowing. “Two Fingers Lifted, Trapped in Eternity! Die!”

Nothing happened.

“Uh, violence amongst gods has been banned,” Karta said, clearing her throat. “You can’t hurt him.”

Vremya froze. Violence amongst gods was banned? How was it even possible to enforce a rule like that? Who would enforce it? However, judging by the lack of death caused by his sure-kill attack, it really seemed like it was true. Vremya lowered his arm and pushed Karta, wanting to shove the dog off its stool. Before the old man’s hand could touch the dog’s fur, an invisible barrier blocked him. Vremya frowned and pulled his arm back. “Then it works both ways? Gods can’t harm me either?”

“Yep,” Karta said. “All arguments are resolved through this guy.” She patted the metal ball. “Sometimes I wish I could hurt other gods though—like this monk right here. I want to bite him! How dare he burn a money tree!?”

The monk cleared his throat. “What’s done is done. I don’t have the origin tree, and I don’t have any origin fruit or seeds.”

“That’s no issue,” the metal ball said before Vremya could attempt to kill Pozhar again. “You’ll simply have to compensate Vremya with spirit stones or items of equal value. The tree’s value comes from the fruits it can produce. One origin fruit can be produced every ten thousand years. A total of 238,975,683,542,436,261 years has passed since you’ve taken the tree from Vremya. A total of 23,897,568,354,243 fruits should’ve been produced. Each origin fruit can sell for ten billion spirit stones, meaning you owe Vremya 238,975,683,542,436,261,000,000 spirit stones. Since Vremya was sleeping the whole time, there won’t be any interest, and there won’t be any additional costs from trees that could’ve been; however, you will owe Vremya ten billion spirit stones every ten thousand years.”

Pozhar nodded.

“You’re surprisingly calm,” Karta said. As the god of fire, Pozhar was a greater god, but even if he was a greater god, was he really that rich? Karta’s shoulders slumped down as she realized how huge the great gap between the greater gods like Pozhar and the lesser gods like herself was. She could only imagine how rich the primordial gods were.

“Of course,” Pozhar said. “A debt of merely…, what number did you say that was?”

“Two hundred thirty-eight sextillion,” the metal ball said.

“Right,” Pozhar said. “A mere debt of two hundred sextillion spirit stones, for someone like me, that can be easily solved. Ever since that tree died on me, I’ve always been preparing for this moment.” The monk reached underneath the counter and pulled out a box. He placed it in front of Vremya.

Vremya furrowed his brow. The box was awfully small, and there weren’t any hints of a subspace attached to it. There was no way it could fit ten thousand spirit stones much less two hundred sextillion. Perhaps it contained an item worth just as much as the origin tree? Vremya opened the box, and the force from the motion caused a sheet of paper to flutter out. Vremya grabbed it and frowned. When he looked up, the monk was gone.

“What is it?” Karta asked, leaning over to take a peek. The metal ball couldn’t help but shift its eyes as well, trying to discern the words on the sheet.

With a blank expression, Vremya tilted the paper, letting the other two read it. On it, there were three words written in bold strokes of red ink: I declare bankruptcy!