The sky was bleeding.
Cracks veined across the heavens in jagged, burning scars, their crimson light staining the ash-choked air. Mountains clawed higher into the sky where cities once stood. Rivers of molten stone slithered across the broken earth, devouring forests and valleys alike.
Logan Pierce coughed violently as he staggered to his knees, his lungs filling with grit and sulfur.
This isn't a dream.
The thought hammered itself into his mind as he wiped his burning eyes and forced himself upright. His body ached, bruised, and battered. His black hoodie was torn and half-melted at the sleeve. His survival boots were cracked open at the soles, trailing scraps of melted rubber.
The world had ended.
And something else had taken its place.
A soft chime rang out — not in the air, but inside his skull. Cold. Mechanical. Final.
[Sovereign System Initialization: Complete.]
Welcome, Logan Pierce.
You have been chosen.
Logan clenched his fists until his knuckles popped. His heart hammered against his ribs, and the air tasted of metal and fire. Around him stretched devastation — broken cliffs, black forests, and flickering blue fire dancing across fields of dead grass. In the distance, monstrous shapes lumbered across the shattered plains.
He should have been terrified.
Instead, a grim sense of focus locked into place. Years of gaming instincts, tactical thinking, and survival theory snapped together like a closing trap.
Assess. Secure. Survive.
His gaze dropped to the object glowing faintly at his feet:
A Heartstone Core — barely larger than a clenched fist, pulsing with weak crimson light, embedded in a circle of cracked earth. Its glow was pitiful, flickering like a dying ember. Around it stood the remains of a structure — charred wood, half-melted stone, and collapsed beams leaning at drunken angles.
A shack. That's what they had given him.
Logan exhaled slowly.
"A shack," he muttered. "Great start."
Another chime resonated — deeper, colder.
[Territory Claimed: Ashfall Basin.]
Territory Status: Critical — 12 Hours Until Collapse.
[Warning: Heartstone Core Stability at 15%.]
Twelve hours. If he did nothing, the Heartstone would die — and so would he.
"Move," he growled to himself, his voice rough and dry.
No time to panic. No time to mourn.
Priority: secure the Heartstone.
Second: prepare defenses.
Third: survive the night.
Because judging by the shapes he had seen moving in the distance, nightfall would bring more than darkness.
He got to work.
The ruins of the shack offered little. Most of the timber was charred beyond use. The stones were cracked and brittle from the sudden upheaval.
Still, Logan scavenged what he could:
Broken planks for crude barriers.
Splintered beams for makeshift stakes.
Shards of volcanic glass for weapons.
Each action felt strangely familiar, like slipping into the early stages of a brutal RTS campaign — but this time, his life was actually on the line.
As he worked, more prompts flickered across his vision.
[Beginner Summoning Opportunity Unlocked.]
You may summon your first Citizen or Defender.
Above the Heartstone, a shimmering circle of light unfolded — a portal, swirling with colors like smoke and dying fire. Above it, translucent text floated:
**Summoning Mode**
Material Cost | Success Rate | Possible Results
--- | --- | ---
Basic Summon 10 Stone, 5 Wood | 100% | Normal or Rare Citizen
Advanced Summon 1 Summoning Token | 75% | Rare to Epic Unit
Elite Summon 3 Summoning Tokens | 50% | Epic to Legendary Hero
Logan quickly checked his inventory.
Empty. No tokens. No reserves.
Of course.
He grimaced and hauled over the salvage he had gathered — cracked stones and blackened planks — tossing them into the portal's swirling light. They dissolved instantly, absorbed by the System.
The portal flared brighter, crackling with low thunder.
[Summoning in Progress...]
Logan stood rigid, heart hammering.
This first summons could mean life or death.
A flash of golden light burst outward.
[Result: Rare Grade — Veteran Fortress Captain Summoned!]
Kneeling within the portal's dissipating light was a man clad in battered chainmail, a heavy iron shield strapped to his back. His silver-threaded hair was cropped short, and his steel-blue eyes locked onto Logan's face with calm, assessing focus.
The man rose smoothly, his fist thudding over his heart in salute.
Name: Garrick Holt
Class: Veteran Fortress Captain
Grade: Rare
Loyalty: Stable
Skills:
- Fortress Construction (+15% Wall Durability)
- Emergency Defense Protocol (Boost defense strength by 20% during last stands.)
"Commander," Garrick said, his voice rough as gravel, "your shield stands ready. Where do you need me?"
For a moment, Logan could only stare.
Rare Grade. First pull.
A dry, ragged laugh tore from his throat.
"We need walls," Logan said, his voice tightening with urgency.
Garrick grinned — a grim expression that matched the war scars etched into his weathered face.
"Then we build, Sovereign."
They worked with ruthless speed.
Garrick moved with the brutal efficiency of a man who had seen too many sieges and survived them all. He carved stakes, fortified weak spots, and raised defensive walls from scavenged debris..