GLORIOUS WORKERS UNITE! EMPLOYEES OF EMPORIUM! ENTITIES AND BEINGS OF ALL KIND! DO YOU FEEL THAT YOUR HARD WORK IS NOT BEING COMPENSATED TO THE DEGREE IT SHOULD BE? DO YOU WORRY FOR YOUR SAFETY WHEN YOU SEARCH THE WAREHOUSE FOR YOUR CUSTOMERS’ PERFECT PRODUCTS?
HAVE NO FEAR! JOIN OUR GLORIOUS UNION TODAY! YOU MAY FEEL ALONE IN THE MULTIVERSE, BUT WHEN TIMES ARE TOUGH, WE ARE HERE TO REPRESENT YOU TO YOUR EMPLOYERS.
OUR GOALS ARE TO IMPROVE JOB SECURITY AND WORKING CONDITIONS FOR ALL, AND WORK TO ENSURE EMPORIUM’S POLICIES REFLECT JUST THAT. SO THE NEXT TIME AN INTERDIMENSIONAL TEAR MAKES YOU LATE TO WORK, YOU KNOW YOU’LL BE TREATED FAIRLY BY YOUR EMPLOYERS.
WE CAN ACHIEVE MORE TOGETHER THAN WE CAN ALONE. UNITED WE ARE STRONG!
UNITED, WE ARE GLORIOUS!
Extract taken from a pamphlet distributed to Emporium employees. Any empty space not taken up by text is filled with pictures of clenched fists.
In the homeplane of The Orbital Conglomerate™ headquarters, a battle rages across the heavens. Onlookers might be forgiven for thinking it the end of everything, as the two sides collide again and again, each impact putting out the energy of an exploding star. But there are only two of them.
Ragnar the Fist, a mighty warrior travelling the multiverse on a quest to destroy Capitalism, and Calculations Infinite and Divine, the CEO of The Orbital Conglomerate™.
The first is a being consisting entirely of fists. Every second a thousand fists swing a thousand times, each deployed with the force of a supernova and the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. Most beings would perish just from being in the presence of such unleashed power.
But incredibly, their opponent is keeping up with the seemingly impossible barrage. Wings consisting of equations and diagrams written on multi-dimensional surfaces calculate the trajectory and force of every blow. Muscles whose very fibres are made from strings and arrays of numbers from multiple mathematical systems coil and twist, outputting exactly enough power to redirect their opponent’s blows harmlessly past them.
“You cannot win, Ragnar!” the second figure cries, deftly twisting their body at impossible angles to avoid a barrage of blows, any one of which could have ended the fight. “I have seen your every move before the creation of the cosmos! I will admit, I have never seen power such as yours, but I know your every move before you make it!” Rays of burning light arc through space, and Ragnar is forced to disengage and evade, but even then, it’s like they know where she’s going to be at any point in time, and several sear across his body, leaving superficial but painful burns.
“KEEP TALKING, SCION OF CAPITALISM!” Ragnar cries out as they regroup. “YOUR FORESIGHT IS FORMIDABLE INDEED! YOUR KNOWLEDGE MAY BE INFINITE, BUT I CAN TELL YOUR POWER IS NOT! YOU KNOW FULL WELL I ONLY HAVE TO HIT YOU ONCE! HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP THIS UP? I WAS BORN FOR THIS!”
The two continue to clash, and Ragnar, despite being on the back-fist for much of the early fight, is starting to regain ground. Calculations can still see all he does before he does it, but she’s getting closer and closer to landing a hit. She can feel it…
One of Ragnar’s fists clips the tip of Calculations’ wings. It’s not a direct hit, not enough to end the fight, but it still sends them reeling as the calculations that predict Ragnar’s moves are disrupted. In an instant, the distance between them is widened as Calculations retreats, unwilling to confront Ragnar with anything less than a perfect defence in place.
Seeing their chance, Ragnar charges. She’s faster than calculations, rapidly closing the gap. His whole strength is thrown behind one fist, determined to end this now.
It happens an instant before she catches up. The broken wing tip heals. Suddenly, Calculations is whole again. Ragnar’s blow is just barely redirected and in return, he takes a crushing blow to centre mass, sending her reeling through space and crashing into an uninhabited planet, leaving a crater miles wide with her at the centre.
They let out a growl, not of anger, but to psych herself up. Calculations is charging, and it won’t be long before they’re upon him again. Her fists open into grasping hands, snaking over the surface of the planet, grasping the ground itself in an unbreakable grip.
She lets out an almighty scream as she heaves, the ground shifting under her as her raw strength makes the planet move. They spin it around themselves, once, twice, thrice, he keeps going as the planet builds up speed. She’ll have to time it right. Calculations is fast, but only so fast. If she throws the planet fast enough, from close enough, they won’t be able to dodge…
NOW!
With a final scream, Ragnar releases the planet, sending it hurtling through space towards her adversary. She’s done it! There’s no way Calculations can avoid-
There’s a flash. A line of light instantly traces from the top to bottom of Ragnar’s vision, straight through the planet, which splits in half down the middle. The gap is metres wide at most, but Calculations emerges from between the two halves, unharmed, but clearly exhausted. They’re holding…
It looks like a sword, but every instinct in Ragnar screams that it’s dangerous, even to someone like him. It looks normal, but if that’s what cut through the planet…
“It’s a rare treat for me to have to draw this. I’m going to enjoy this…”
For a second that stretches for an eternity, the two float in space.
Ragnar raises her fists.
Calculations brandishes their sword.
And the two move. It happens in an instant. Ragnar’s fists fly towards Calculations from every possible direction at once.
It’s not enough. The sword cuts a twisting path through space, and for just an instant Ragnar can see it. He can see the path of the blade before it moves. She can see how it’s going to pass through every single one of their fists before they can land.
The blade flashes, and blood bursts from Ragnar’s hands, their attack collapsing before it can be properly launched. The blade’s infinitesimally narrow edge passes through flesh and bone effortlessly. The pair hang in space surrounded by a red mist, before the blade moves again, straight at Ragnar’s body.
Ragnar goes limp, no longer able to move. Calculations looks spent too, but is still able to maintain the grip on their sword.
“In all my countless years, I’ve never encountered one quite like you. Be proud, Ragnar the Fist. Few have ever forced me to draw this blade, and none have survived a single swing, let alone two. How did you… ah I see.”
Their eyes fall on one of Ragnar’s fists. Somehow, amazingly, a single fist escaped the fate of the rest of them. Ragnar does not even have the strength to clench it, but it’s there, unharmed.
“Even though all of them were fated to be struck, you were able to change that fate in the last minute. Truly, you are a formidable being. It’s your loss. But I look forward to fighting you again.”
They leave, and Ragnar hangs there in the void.
Although they can barely move, a fire courses through them, a determination they’ve not felt since their own homeplane fell to their might. She’s going to need to get stronger yet.
His body is utterly broken.
Her spirit has never felt more alive.
“ENTITIES AND BEINGS OF RAGNAR’S TURF, AND OF COURSE OUR GLORIOUS GUESTS! WELCOME ONE AND ALL!” The commentator announces into their mic, to the cheers of a crowd of thousands.
“I HOPE YOU’RE ON THE EDGE OF YOUR SEATS, BECAUSE WE’VE GOT A TREAT FOR YOU TONIGHT! TONIGHT’S FINAL IS BETWEEN TWO ABSOLUTE JUGGERNAUTS! IN THE PLATINUM CORNER, WE HAVE GABRIEL TAYLOR!” The crowd roars in approval as a young adult in a sharp grey suit enters the arena, arms upraised and waving to the crowd. “FOR THOSE OF YOU JOINING US FOR THE FIRST TIME, GABRIEL IS A NEWCOMER THIS SEASON, BUT MY GOODNESS THEY’VE MADE AN IMPRESSION! THEY’VE DESTROYED MULTIPLE FAVOURITES DESPITE IMPOSSIBLE ODDS, AND MADE IT ALL THE WAY TO TODAY’S FINAL!
“AND IN THE DIAMOND CORNER, WE HAVE THE REIGNING CHAMPION! YOU KNOW HIM! YOU LOVE HIM! EVERYONE, GIVE IT UP FOR THE ONE, THE ONLY, JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHN SMITH!” The crowd goes wild as the second competitor enters. John too looks like he’s dressed for a day at the office, a black suit, crimson shirt and tie.
“TONIGHT,” the commentator continues, “THESE TWO SHALL MEET IN THE ARENA TO COMPETE IN GLORIOUS ADMINISTRATION! WHO WILL WIN? WILL JOHN BREAK HIS RECORD FOR NUMBER OF FORMS ASSESSED AND SIGNED IN AN HOUR? OR WILL GABRIEL’S SPREADSHEET SKILLS CARRY THE DAY? THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT!
“LET THE GLORIOUS ADMINISTRATION COMMENCE!”
Later, John stands in his dressing room, towelling sweat from his forehead before collapsing into his chair, exhausted.
knock, knock, knock
“It’s open!” he calls, and a hooded figure opens the door, quickly coming inside, “You know I can tell it’s you, right? Disguise isn’t exactly your strong suit.”
The figure doesn’t speak at first, and it’s tense for a moment, before they let out a bellowing laugh. “NOTHING GETS PAST YOU, DOES IT, JOHN?” The cloak is cast aside, revealing the Supreme Galactic Tyrant herself. “I TOLD YOU I WOULD MAKE IT BACK FOR THE FINALS! AND I DIDN’T WANT MY PRESENCE TO DETRACT FROM WHAT SHOULD BE YOUR DAY!”
“Not my day today,” John corrects him, “Taylor’s. It was close, but they deserved that win.” He points to a small TV screen on his dresser, where celebrations are still going on almost 24 hours after the conclusion of the admin bout. Despite his loss, he seems genuinely happy. Ragnar notices the telltale signs of excitement as John looks at the screen. “But enough about that, you look like you’ve seen better days.” He indicates the cuts covering every one of her hands.
Far from being downcast, Ragnar is ecstatic. “QUITE THE CONTRARY, JOHN! I HAVE NEVER BEEN BETTER! NEVER HAVE I FOUGHT SO HARD, AND ALTHOUGH I TOO LOST IN MY LATEST MY SPIRIT HAS NEVER BEEN STRONGER! MY QUEST TO VANQUISH CAPITALISM HAS TRULY YIELDED THE GREATEST OF PRIZES, AND IT’S NOT EVEN OVER YET!”
John grins. It’s equal parts childish joy and grim determination. “Looks like we both have some growing to do yet. And for what it’s worth, I’m with you all the way. What do you say, maybe there’s something we can learn from each other in all this.”
“INDEED JOHN. THERE IS A REASON, AFTER ALL, THAT I BROUGHT ALL THESE NEW CONTESTS OF SKILL BACK TO MY TURF. WE ALL HAVE SOMETHING WE CAN LEARN FROM EACH OTHER.”
“I look forward to it. But first,” John stands, “I’m famished. There’s some street gangs in this city which have been having cook-offs over territory. It’s good stuff, and they don’t like it to go to waste. Fancy it?”
“FINE. ALTHOUGH I HAD BEEN HOPING TO GET STRAIGHT TO TRAINING, DOING SO ON AN EMPTY STOMACH WOULD BE FOOLHARDY INDEED.”
“Quite so,” John opens the door, “After you, Your Gloriousness. First, let us eat, then on to bigger things.”
Ragnar’s thoughts go back to her last fight. “QUITE LITERALLY,” she says, and John gets the distinct impression that, while she’s speaking to him, her attention is elsewhere.
As Ragnar leaves, John spares one last glance at his mirror.
“It has been quite a wild ride, hasn’t it? I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have!”
He winks, then is gone into the night.