Chapter 622: Solemnity

Grey’s chat had already descended into chaos.

Messages streamed past fast enough that even someone actively following along would have struggled to read half of them, and the sudden influx of viewers had buried most of the familiar names beneath hundreds Grey had never seen before. That didn’t stop GreyDominion from somehow managing to make herself impossible to miss.

—

[GreyDominion: THAT’S MY FUCKING BOY. DO IT AGAIN.]

[FinchTheDiddler: I’m going to be honest, I thought he was cooked about four times in the last minute.]

[SpellSeeker: He still might be. You people understand that pissing off one Elemental is not the same thing as pissing off their entire Race, right?]

[GreyDominion: Sounds like quitter talk.]

[FinchTheDiddler: Sounds like you need to bet more money. Fear goes away when you put enough credits on the outcome.]

[GraveOdds: Is Grey always like this?]

[GreyDominion: He’s usually worse ❤️]

[SpellSeeker: That isn’t the reassurance you think it is.]

—

The messages continued piling up as clips of Grey’s latest actions were reposted through the chat, each replay drawing another surge of viewers into the feed. Most of the newcomers had arrived expecting to watch the human who had apparently decided that enraging a major Race beyond the point of no return was an addition for him, and the reactions ranged from disbelief to the sort of immediate fanaticism Grey seemed strangely good at producing.

Then a familiar name returned.

—

[PressingAlarm: You people are celebrating something that will obviously get him killed. He has now thoroughly enraged the Elementals, and there is no reasonable scenario where they allow this insult to stand.]

[GreyDominion: THE BOT IS BACK.]

[PressingAlarm: I am not a bot.]

[RedButton: Holy shit this is the bot everyone keeps talking about?]

[GraveOdds: I’ve been here ten minutes and I already hate him.]

[PressingAlarm: You don’t even know me.]

[FinchTheDiddler: That’s never stopped me before.]

[PressingAlarm: I’m being serious. There is a difference between surviving one confrontation and surviving the consequences that follow. Grey Temolt will die if he continues like this.]

—

For once, EpicPelvis answered before GreyDominion could.

—

[EpicPelvis: No.]

[GreyDominion: ???]

[FinchTheDiddler: Who hacked Pelvis?]

[EpicPelvis: Shut the fuck up. I’m serious.]

[EpicPelvis: I’ve watched this little bastard turn situations that should kill him into profit so many times that I’m done betting against it. Every time somebody says "now he’s really fucked," he comes back with more money, more power, or some new bullshit nobody knew he could do.]

[PressingAlarm: That isn’t evidence.]

[EpicPelvis: It’s literally evidence. You just don’t like it.]

[EpicPelvis: At this point I’m more worried for the Elementals. Grey getting mad at you has a higher mortality rate than most diseases.]

[GreyDominion: PELVIS I KNEW THERE WAS GOOD IN YOU.]

[EpicPelvis: Don’t make me regret this.]

—

SpellSeeker didn’t join the dogpile immediately, but even his response carried less certainty than it usually did when warning everyone to temper themselves.

—

[SpellSeeker: I still think Grey is in danger. But saying he’ll "definitely" die feels stupid at this point.]

[RedButton: BOT RATIO.]

[GraveOdds: GET HIS ASS.]

[PressingAlarm: None of you understand risk assessment.]

[FinchTheDiddler: I understand your mother assessed the risk and kept you anyway.]

—

PressingAlarm disappeared beneath several hundred messages.

**

The CEO of Best Of Incorporated slapped both palms against his desk hard enough to send several projections shaking.

"YES!"

His roar rolled through the office as Grey’s latest clip replayed across an enormous wall display, and several executives standing nearby flinched before quickly pretending they hadn’t. Their CEO didn’t notice or care, already laughing so hard that he had to lean over the desk for support.

"Cut that up. All of it. I want the Elemental bit, I want his face, I want the fucking chat losing its mind, and I want Best Of plastered over every version that’s legally allowed to breathe."

One of the executives hurriedly nodded and began forwarding orders.

"Blast it across every airwave we’ve got access to. Sponsor feeds, short-form edits, reaction channels, gambling networks, I don’t give a shit if you’re putting it between funeral announcements."

The CEO slapped the desk again, his grin becoming wider as numbers began climbing across one of the side displays. Grey might have been the most dangerous sponsorship decision Best Of had made in years, but he was also rapidly becoming the most profitable.

His finger stabbed toward the replay.

"And get that last line to the insurance department. We’re going to make a fucking killing!"

**

Grid watched the same footage in silence.

Normally, very little managed to disturb the calm resting across the previous Genesis King’s face, even when the subject was Grey Temolt. He had understood early that Grey responded to pressure by pushing back harder, and unlike many of the people trying to kill him, Grid had never mistaken that resistance for luck.

Even so, his brow furrowed. This was beyond the range he had accounted for.

Grid had expected Grey to survive things he shouldn’t and even expected him to improve under pressure. In fact, he practically knew Grey would embarrass people far above his station from time to time. He had long proven that he could.

What he hadn’t expected was for the gap to close this quickly, nor for Grey’s strength to begin reaching a point where the people applying the pressure had to seriously account for the possibility that they might be the ones who broke first.

His fingers tapped once against the arm of his chair before stopping. Perhaps he had underestimated just how hollow his own throne really was.

**

Producer Endes sat in darkness with his hands folded in front of him, the glow of Grey’s feed casting pale light across the lower half of his face.

He had watched the viewership numbers climb, watched sponsorship bids rise with them. He had watched Grey turn another crisis into exactly the sort of entertainment the Genesis Games were built to exploit. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been everything a Producer could have asked for.

Endes didn’t smile. For the first time in a long while, even his expression had become solemn.

His race would almost certainly pay the price for this.