Jean stood in front of the polished obsidian mirror in his command tent, practicing what he hoped was a neutral, diplomatic smile.
After yesterday's coffee catastrophe, he had begged— begged— for a proper peace talk with a Pantheon delegation. No Blend. No rituals. Just calm words, maybe some neutral snacks, and zero bodily fluids involved.
The mirror reflected a tall, scarred warlord with blood-flecked lips (old habit) and eyes that screamed "I have conquered your children's futures." His "neutral smile" looked like a predator deciding which limb to remove first.
I just wanted to say "let's not fight" like a normal person, he thought, adjusting his cloak. Instead I look like I'm about to announce the end of free will. This body needs a warning label.
Varak entered without knocking, practically vibrating with excitement. "My Lord! The Pantheon delegation has arrived under the white flag you… suggested. They look appropriately terrified. The Fracture King's latest probes have them desperate. This is the perfect moment for your 'peace talk.'"
Lirael slipped in behind him. "I've prepared the table with subtle calming runes. And backup truth incense. Just in case. Your reputation will do the rest."
Elara leaned against the tent pole, arms crossed. "Try not to cough on anyone this time. Or giggle. Or exist too loudly."
Jean took a deep breath. "Right. Normal conversation. Got it."
The parley pavilion had been set up in the neutral rift zone: elegant stone table, neutral banners, and actual fruit platters that didn't scream "domination." The Radiant Sovereign himself led the Pantheon group— three heroes, two priests, and one very sweaty diplomat. They sat rigidly, hands near weapons, eyes darting like prey in a lion's den.
Jean sat down slowly, trying to look approachable. The motion made his cloak flare dramatically and cast long, ominous shadows across the table.
He opened with what he thought was a safe line: "Thank you for coming. Let's discuss how we can handle the Fracture King together. No more fighting each other. We… cooperate?"
The Sovereign's eyes narrowed. Jean's low, raspy voice turned the word "cooperate" into something that sounded like "submit and tremble."
Varak, watching from the side with Lirael and Elara, whispered loudly, "He offers false mercy to test their resolve. Classic."
One: The diplomat immediately started sweating harder. "C-cooperate? Under your banner, of course! We accept your gracious overlordship in exchange for protection!"
Jean blinked. "Wait, that's not—"
Two: He reached for a grape to calm his nerves. His hand trembled slightly from stress. The grape rolled off the table and landed near the Sovereign's boot. Jean leaned down to pick it up—looking exactly like he was bowing in mock respect before delivering a killing blow.
The priests gasped. One actually started praying.
Three: A stress cough escaped. Just a small one. No blood this time. But the Sovereign interpreted the tiny sound as the opening note of some legendary war chant.
The entire Pantheon delegation shot to their feet.
"Your 'cooperation' is a trap of domination!" the Sovereign boomed, holy sword half-drawn. "We saw the Warmonger's Blend ritual! We heard of the three realms that fell to your morning essence! We will not—"
Jean panicked and stood up too fast, knocking over the entire fruit platter. Grapes, apples, and something that looked suspiciously like a miniature portal fruit rolled everywhere. One glowing fruit bounced and exploded in a harmless but sparkly shower of silver light right in front of the delegation.
To the Pantheon, it looked like the Warmonger had just activated an ancient curse ritual.
The Sovereign roared, "Retreat! It's another psychological assault!"
They fled back through their portal in a chaotic, heroic mess— leaving behind dropped weapons, one abandoned holy banner, and a single glowing message crystal: "We will return with the full Pantheon host to end your threat once and for all!"
Silence.
Then the celebration erupted from Jean's side.
Varak dropped to one knee. "Magnificent! You offered 'peace' and they exposed their true weakness. Four new realms are already sending envoys after hearing the Sovereign fled from your mere presence!"
Lirael was taking notes at lightspeed. "The fruit ritual was inspired. Symbolic domination through abundance. I'll replicate it."
Elara covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "You spilled grapes. Grapes. And now the Pantheon thinks you're declaring total war through produce."
Jean stared at the empty pavilion, grapes still rolling sadly across the floor. "I just wanted to share snacks…"
Back at camp, the absurdity reached new heights. The abandoned holy banner was now being flown as a trophy. The "Grape Incident" was already being turned into ballads. Three more neutral realms arrived begging for protection, citing the Pantheon's "cowardly retreat" as proof of the Warmonger's supremacy.
Jean sat on the command platform, head in hands, while subordinates planned "defensive countermeasures" that sounded suspiciously like preemptive conquests across five fronts.
His nervous giggle slipped out again.
The camp cheered like it was New Year's event.
Rule of Three achieved with fruit, he thought. Grape spill, cough, panic stand. Now they think I'm unifying the multiverse through intimidation and produce.
Elara sat beside him, offering actual plain water. "On the bright side, you're really bad at peace talks. On the bad side… the Fracture King just sent a massive pulse through the silver rift. It's coming personally this time."
Jean looked up sharply.
Before he could respond, the entire sky cracked open.
A colossal fracture appeared— larger than any rift before. The Fracture King's full silhouette emerged, towering over the battlefield like a living apocalypse. Its thousand voices boomed across every realm simultaneously:
"Enough games, Warmonger. Your 'mercy' has accelerated the annihilation. Face me now… or watch your precious new allies become the first shards of the end!"
Shadowy tides began pouring out, targeting not just Jean's forces, but the newly allied realms and even the retreating Pantheon.
Jean stood slowly, heart hammering.
The King wasn't bluffing.
And everyone was now looking at Jean like he had planned this all along.