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The Gamer Chapter 1996 – Approaching the Late Game 43 – Doomscrolling
🕑 Added 2025-11-10 23:49:58 +0000 UTCJohn had sat down to play games and instead found himself scanning various social media sites.
Truthfully, he had actually started to play games. For reasons of personal challenge, he had started up a roguelike that he had nearly beaten completely. Only one level of additional difficulty remained. That level had killed his enthusiasm.
The game had become decreasingly fun with each stack of difficulty. Rather than make the game perpetually more challenging for the player, it made each run more reliant on good RNG. John had put together the math in his head, and if he did not get one of three specific combos of multiplicative modifiers, the run was strictly impossible to complete. He was less playing than rerolling the seed until the game permitted him a set of choices that could potentially manifest enough modifiers for the final boss to be beaten.
John wanted to still get that final checkmark, because that was just what a gamer did. He also could not stand doing more than a few attempts in a row. Decisions he made were meaningless to that game. His fate was prewritten and 90% of the time the question was when he would fail. It was everything he hated both in games and in reality.
It also was a reflection of reality. Sometimes the underlying set of circumstances did not allow a winning hand. Unlike the seed of each run, John could manipulate the circumstances in reality though.
That was his justification for checking various social media. Consumption of news he could do nothing to change, he minimized. He did not benefit from reading up on sad puppy stories or stories of the mundane political landscape. No, he kept himself to the Abyssal social media. Specifically, he took in reactions to recent developments.
‘I know the Abyss is the place of magic and such,’ one post read, ‘but I have never seen anything like this.’ Attached was a picture of a portal. Purple, flame-like protrusions surrounded a view into a forest, rising starkly from the middle-American prairie behind it.
It was all too easily mistaken for a high-quality photoshop. Even being the ruler of an Abyssal nation, John would have gone with that guess. Kingdom portals were just that rare.
Comments under the post were a mixture of confusion and sadness. Sorting the comments by date rather than likes painted the picture. The one who had posted the picture had stepped in to investigate and never returned. Though death was not confirmed, they had no reason to even check on the man.
‘I can only imagine the dread that must come from being separated like that forever,’ John thought. ‘I’m struggling with the dread that I have if my out doesn’t work.’
The ability to open up Kingdoms on a cooldown was a quiet assurance on his mind. Should it happen that there was a person behind this and that this person was malicious, the Gamer could request a Kingdom with the words ‘Find my Jane’ or a variant thereof. Given how his abilities usually worked, he was confident that he would get Quests on that Adventure that ultimately rewarded him with taking his woman back to Earth alongside him. He had extracted Claire in a similar manner.
If multiple were lost, he would have to reclaim them one after another. It would be horrid to have to choose an order and waiting for the cooldown would be stressful. Ultimately, the time that cost him would be inconsequential compared to the eternal youth they were blessed with.
Other people did not have those assurances. John was struck once more by the willpower the average person had to cope with their circumstances. He liked that side of humanity.
Though there was a shadow to it, as there always was. For everyone who had willpower in the face of greater forces, there was someone who was just resigned to their own insignificance. Reading their opinions on such matters was sobering.
‘Someone else crushed by things we can do nothing about,’ one such post read.
An agreeing reply beneath it further illuminated the mindset: ‘The world is just not fair man. Some people are born with the ability to tear open reality rifts and I am running as hard as I can just to stand still.’
A part of him, the part who still held onto some mundane sensibilities, chuckled mirthlessly at that sentence. Though the poster was right about the imbalance of power, they were presenting themselves with the wrong challenge. In life, one ought not to crave to do as well as another but as well as one can.
‘I wonder if this is what the Bible meant with not coveting your neighbour’s house,’ John thought and scrolled a bit more through the thread on these portals.
The matter was rapidly gaining the attention of the internet and the wider, global Abyss. News on random portals appearing was impossible to suppress, even if John had wanted to. Between Scarlett and the technomancers under her and the government’s sway, he could have slowed it drastically.
He would not. In these tumultuous times, he needed the citizenry to talk about what affected them openly. There was no quicker way to scout out his territory than to let everyone chat freely and investigate from there. It turned everyone in his nation into an unwitting accomplice for national security.
John clicked on another tab, containing a summary of portals spotted so far. As he scrolled, another one of them was found. People from inside and outside Fusion were commenting on it all. The most interesting question about all of it was asked by a random user: ‘Have any of these been seen popping up outside the USA?’
The answer to that appeared to be no.
‘Is Fusion being targeted? Maybe the Latebloomer has an emotional bond of some kind to the territory?’ Hate rose in the stomach of the Gamer like a knot twisting around itself. ‘Is this one of the horrors Izha saddled me with?’
Grimly, he continued to click through the thread. When he noticed how much of a draw on his mental health this was becoming, he stopped. He could not allow himself to dwell on speculations and the sorrow of the affected. Grief was for the families of the lost. To solve this issue was his burden, nothing else.
A tap of the X button and the tab closed. Three more closed everything he had open on that topic, leaving him viewing a 4Chan page.
John had never used the website himself, only absorbed its activities through cultural osmosis. What made that board worthy of checking out today was that it had, accidentally, become a hotbed of confused newcomers to the Abyss speaking to each other. It was a muddled mess. The genuinely confused new Abyssals were writing out their experiences, mundane people were highly confused, and trolls disrupted the perceived fantasy RP with memes and obscenities.
Similar scenes were playing out all over the internet. Technomancers the world over were doing overtime, trying to pull these newly awakened people into the established Abyss before they could disrupt what existed or, worse, invoke Gaia’s Ire.
John read their accounts. With all the trolls and confused commenters weighing in, it soon became too difficult separating fact from fiction. He changed to scrolling through a forum that had been set up specifically for new Abyssals in Fusion.
It was a fascinating place. Even inside time dilation, there was constant movement in it. Reactions varied massively and for good reasons. A concerned mother suddenly found herself the sole member of her family with magical power – a gift she did not want or need. Completely opposite was the reaction of the young people, especially the men, who were openly espousing the rush they felt at being able to shape the world with these supernatural abilities. Everything from panic to euphoria filled the text channels.
Whether connecting them was a wise idea, John could not rightly say yet. He had wanted to provide an outlet. It could easily turn into a breeding place of terrorist cells. Integration efforts would ramp up in the coming days to prevent that. Equally, Fusion would begin protection programs to let people stay on the other side of the divide.
Reading through their comments filled John with a variety of emotions. There was much in their reactions that mirrored his own early experiences. Attacks and defences of his character were thrown around between general conversations. They wrote of him like a distant, untouchable figure. Many expressed their discomfort with being ruled by an emperor. Many more did not care much. Most stayed silent, which was always the most concerning option.
Bothersome human tendencies made him seek out more and more of his critics specifically. Before long, he was reading frankly ridiculous conspiracy theories on how he was the origin of the Abyss and did all of this to absorb their souls. Ideas like that were laughable. The vitriol with which they were presented was not.
John forced himself to close that tab too, before it could poison his day further.
Only music was now there to accompany his mind. He did not feel like starting the game up again nor did he want to read more of the accounts of the people, new or old Abyssals. He swivelled left to right, his mind racing, arguing against phantoms of his critics. Quieting those voices by force was impossible. Only thinking of other things would achieve this.
‘How much should I listen to the common people?’ John asked himself. ‘What duty do I have to consider the average man’s perspective? It was easy to say when so much power lay in the elected officials. Can I still claim that it is good enough if I listen to the opinions distilled through votes? Is that a feedback mechanism swift enough for this age?’
John’s fingers drummed on the edge of the table. Restless fidgeting accompanied equally restless thoughts. He had no good answers to this, because he wasn’t sure there was a good answer.
‘This might just be the limitation of the human experience. Do I want to transcend that? Not really, I rather enjoy being human.’ He sighed and then got up.
Standing, he was tall enough to see Lee on one of the computer stations down the other side of the row. The brunette was clicking and clacking away at some challenge, so focused that she did not realize he was standing there.
He admired the elegant swing of her knitted eyebrows for a little bit, then stepped away. Mentally, he reached out to Ehtra. ‘Got a moment to talk?’
‘S-sure!’ the grey angel stammered, a wave of embarrassment travelling along with her words. ‘I’ll allow it! It’s not like I want to talk to you or anything!’
John snorted as he left the room. Swift steps carried him through a large mansion abuzz with activity. Fae Maids patrolled the corridors, his maids tended to important chores, and the many members of his harem engaged in their manifold interests, together and alone. A distant explosion made the floor vibrate. Did it come from an ongoing spar or Hailey doing a weapon test?
The Gamer reached the side room that Ehtra was occupying.
Knock. Knock. His knuckles hit the wood twice.
“Come in,” the First of Hatred spoke, her tone back to its expected, demanding sourness.
John was not surprised to find her in company nor was he too surprised by who that company was.
Lydia and Moira sat on simple wooden stools, two steps removed from the desk the grey angel claimed. While Ehtra worked on emails, the queen and the Warden were polishing pieces of their individual plate armour. “I don’t think you can save that one,” John drily remarked, pointing at the pile of cleaned metal to Moira’s feet.
“It deserves respect all the same,” the Shield Warden responded dutifully. She raised the pauldron she was oiling with a great deal of veneration. “This metal has taken blows from Arkeidos instead of my skin. Even if it will never be worn again, it is to be preserved.”
“A casing for a radiant gem,” John responded flirtatiously.
A mild blush crept up from Moira’s cleavage. “Y-you and your flattering,” she muttered.
Her reactions had become slightly less intense over the last few days. His flirtations, on the other hand, had become more frequent – even though he did not mean them to be. Such words just left him. That romantic interest that had awoken in him had not been allowed to diminish, not when he spent every day in her presence.
Moira was back to dressing in an enticingly slutty fashion. She wore a tight, white top with straps so thin and a cleavage so deep that her breasts were all but entirely exposed. Her legs were 98% bare, the short shorts made from spandex hiding barely more than her underwear would. Underwear that she had not bothered putting on, as the cameltoe and poking of her nipples clearly proved.
When it came to such indecent clothes, John loved them when they were for him. He preferred women to dress modestly, except if they were baring skin and emphasizing assets for his viewing pleasure – then it did matter whether it was public or private. It was one of those odd dualities of men that made perfect sense instinctively.
There was no one else Moira could have dressed up for in this Intermediary Barrier. She was sending all of the signals… but she was not actually doing anything that gave him a definitive in.
John swallowed that confusion and let his eyes roam to beautiful and explored vistas.
Lydia had stripped out of most of her clothes, reducing her wear to red lingerie and black stockings. Tantalizing curves were hugged tightly. The lace expertly contained her breasts, proudly emphasizing their moderate size. A gap in the front of each cup left her nipples exposed to the air and his wanton gaze. Silky and smooth, the stockings accentuated the length of her legs and left a glimpse of her bare thigh. The connecting straps of her garter belt gave a structure to it all. Even almost naked, she was a militaristic beauty.
Ehtra had her back turned, showing to John the sculpted chocolate skin stretching taut over muscles and shoulderblades. Beneath them began the black fabric of the front-tied corset that was standard of his chosen maid outfit. Curvaceous and athletic, the hourglass of an ancient weapon sat cross-legged, still staring at the screen. Her gloved fingers danced in furious elegance over the keyboard, then slammed the enter button with a finality that was going to ruin someone’s day.
She whirled around, her three braids flying. The large, loose one at the end of her otherwise open hair settled out of view, the smaller pair framed her enormous breasts. Their mass continued to jiggle seconds after she had turned, only truly stropping when she crossed her arms. “What do you want, Master creature?” she asked, sharply.
“Love you too, Ehtra.” John’s heartfelt response had the grey angel turn her head, harumph, and blush all in the same movement. After closing the door behind himself, he grabbed a stool and joined their little circle. “I’m having another philosophical episode,” he told all of them, once comfortable. “Specifically, on how much of a duty I have to listen to the general population.”
“You know my feelings on that,” Lydia said.
“I think I know your feelings on most things, but I still enjoy listening to you,” John responded.
“A person can be smart, the people are a mob that acts on impulses,” the queen stated bluntly. “Impulses are a highly valuable asset to have. I wish to integrate the people into the running of the state so the entrenched nobility is not allowed stagnation. To listen to the masses on all matters would be an opposite extreme.” Shining, one piece of armour hovered out of her hand and a slightly less sparkly piece took its place. “If you wish to hear from the people, seek out individuals.”
“I concur with Lydia,” Ehtra added.
“As do I,” Moira said.
That made the opinion of the room abundantly clear. “I’ll try to live that out.” He waited for a moment, before changing the topic, “So, what are you three doing here?”
“We are enjoying one another’s company with no ulterior motive,” Lydia answered with a sarcastic drawl. It was mild enough that Moira seemed to miss it. She tilted her head in confusion when Ehtra chuckled behind a raised hand.
“Knock, Knock!” Nahoa barged into the room before anyone had really registered her voice. She had an extra swing to her step, really putting emphasis on the width of her hips and the jiggle of her thighs.
John recognized the gait of a woman that wanted to lure him into her service. “How can I help you?” he asked warmly. Aiding her was in his nature anyhow.
“Might be a stupid thought, since I have a lot of those.” Nahoa bunny-hopped into his lap, all ditzy and cute. “Buuuuuuut, if you’re not relaxing, then maybe we could do that thing I wanted you to do for me? You know… just a little bit of effort… and I give you a thousand demigods in return…?”
“Where would these thousand demigods come from?” Moira asked, slightly alarmed. She realized her mistake after two seconds. This time, her humiliated blush was of the tomato-red variant. “You keep producing monsters from hidden corners of the world!” she defended herself. “There could have been Aztec demigods hidden away!”
“No, I was just planning to fill the stars with the product of his seed and my fertile fields,” Nahoa explained in a sweet, mockingly maternal tone.
“I got that now!”
The demigoddess laughed darkly, that malevolent tone she naturally tended to flowing past her sharp teeth. “You have such adorable naiveties.” Nahoa sounded like a villain with the purest intentions. Her ass wiggled, putting the raging erection between her luscious cheeks. “So, John, will you give me what I want?”
He kissed her. That was response enough.
Comments
FluffyButt Sr.
This scene with Lydia, ehtra and Moira would be perfect for a commissioned art piece
