“What you got for me that’ll make me be a better boy scout, golden boy?” DeSean teased. “Hit me with your best Captain America speech. Change my sinning, hell-bound ways! Maybe you’ll make a saint out of me, yet!”

This conversation was leading DeSean to draw on the special, crooked place that was lodged in the center of his persona. The place he kept buried near the surface, knowing it could break through like a brain-hungry zombie when the scent of blood roused it awake.

Quinton challenging him like this was like blood in the water. And DeSean’s dark, twisted, insanity was the hungering shark ready to flash its serrated teeth and dig into the wounded animal presenting itself.

Because Quinton’s moral stand was a wounded animal. It was almost a carcass in DeSean’s opinion.

What good would comic-book heroics do when we had divinely touched people breaking out of hard-light cocoons with a simple mission: murder anyone who didn’t take the deal, who refused the absolute tyranny of the heavens, who decided to distrust the powers of gods that looked upon their marble of a world and thought to themselves: “We’re going to make your world our bitch.”

In between that were going to be bastards, good or bad, who were Marked just the same, but they were going to get in the way. DeSean knew he wasn’t going to go out of his way to cause trouble, because he didn’t need to. People were inherently troublesome.

There were plenty that needed to be put six feet under, especially with the fucking apocalypse knocking on the door. This wasn’t even a Marine philosophy. This was simply how things were, but DeSean could tell Quinton didn’t see it that way… and for some reason, that offended DeSean.

Come on, golden boy, give me a reason to break your morality’s spine over my knee.

DeSean gripped the railing with both hands—ah, no, he only had one hand—and with his one hand, the wood creaked from his added Strength, getting close to splintering. He was on the edge, and he wanted to jump and take that fucking plunge.

“Nothing,” Quinton said in one whooping breath. “I don’t have some big spiel to turn you to the side of angels, DeSean. We all know that’s… pointless.”

“You fucking tease,” DeSean muttered, taking a step back. He kicked the railing and sent pieces flying into the woods below the gazebo. “You had me worked up to the fucking nine, and then you pull out like that.”

DeSean stepped back in, his face inches from Quinton’s. “You’ve wanted this fight, and now you’re ducking me? Come on, don’t be chicken shit now.”

Quinton held his bearing incredibly well despite how red he was moments prior. “I did want this. But I won’t win it, DeSean. Not here, not now, and not with you like this.”

“Can’t win shit if you’re going to act like a little bitch,” DeSean cussed.

“I know where I stand, and you know, too. That’s the best I can hope for right now.”

DeSean swayed like a lunatic.

I am a lunatic.

This was the most rabid he’d acted in a long time, and even the freaking Enlightened Chosen hadn’t brought this side out of him yet. Now that he was denied his release, he felt panicked, twitchy, and desperate for something to hurt. Or to verbally flay apart until this manic energy was gone out of him.

This would be a good time to curse something. But there was nobody to melt. He needed to learn more curse magic. He needed to learn more summoning magic. He had to get his elemental magic down today. There were things to do, and since Quinton was wasting his time, he should just walk away.

But DeSean couldn’t for some reason.

“What is it?” DeSean muttered. “There’s more, and you’re making me wait for no fucking reason.”

Quinton sighed. “My mom’s not doing well. The farm attack was too much for her. She can’t play this game.”

“She has to,” DeSean muttered. “Everyone has to play.”

“There’s a three year old boy in his auntie’s arms in that clinic. The mom’s in a cocoon. Does that child need to play?”

If he can’t pull his weight, then he’ll be… Wait, no, that wasn’t right regardless of the child being part of the game. He was a toddler.

DeSean frowned.

Quinton kept onward. “Two of the elderly women sitting in your fire are in their eighties. They told my mom they’ve never played games. They haven’t even touched their Status Tablet, and they are completely human. They were being taken care of by their families, but they’ve lost contact, and they had to refuse calls from one of their grandsons who’ve taken the deal and became a Chosen.”

“They have to play if they want to survive,” DeSean said, “or they’ll die.”

“When we were in the military, we signed up to serve so our elders and our young didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to suffer.”

“And this service we’ve provided wasn’t for their benefit. It was always in the benefit of the powerful. Now the apocalypse has arrived, and those gilded towers are gone, smashed to fucking pieces.”

“Are they truly gone?” Quinton asked.

DeSean couldn’t answer.

“This world’s old threats continue to exist,” Quinton said softly. “There’s a man, a Bradly Lincoln, whose keeping contact with buddies in the intelligence community that are pulling together and keeping afloat somehow. Russia’s keeping things together better than most. They’re rapidly establishing a program to power level their remaining soldiers.”

“What the fuck?” DeSean said. “It’s only been two days. They’ve must’ve been hit like everyone else.”

“But they didn’t get their president attacked for all of the world to see,” Quinton said. “North Korea invaded South Korea, by the way. Though, I think there’s more to that than old rivalries rekindling.”

DeSean’s mind stalled. He shifted uncomfortably as he picked up the pieces of the puzzle Quinton was laying out for him. Focus helped a lot there.

“Half the world choosing to be Enlightened Chosen doesn’t mean that it was spread equally across all nations,” DeSean said. “Chances are… America has the highest concentration of Chosen than everywhere else in the world.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Just like that, DeSean’s gut cooled. A shiver travelled down his spine. Quinton’s gaze seemed heavier now, and the Marine could barely look into those blue eyes.

“D, what do you think people will do if they are faced with annihilation?” Quinton asked. “They’re going to respond in the extremes. In less than a week, we might face a total land invasion. The world knows Hypersun is in America. Hell, we know he’s in fucking New York right now.”

“Why won’t they just nuke us?” DeSean muttered.

“The nukes are gone,” Quinton said with a sigh.

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“And that’s coming from Bradly?”

“No, that’s coming from a friend I know in the Air Force. The powers that be behind this game swiped our most powerful weapons. Maybe that would’ve threatened their invasion.”

“Or… it would’ve spoiled the game if we took ourselves out along with the Enlightened Chosen,” DeSean said. “If we can’t win, then we’ll scorch the world and leave only a trail of destruction.”

“But is the win worth it if we don’t have something to stand for? Something precious we protect?” Quinton asked.

“We can’t protect a god-damn thing if we aren’t in the running to win.” DeSean pointed his left hand—nub at Quinton. “And if we got to make sacrifices so we can even have a chance at spitting in their eyes, then that’s what we got to do.”

“I can’t do this knowing my mom would suffer,” Quinton said. “Maybe I can bear the burden, but I need to take my mom somewhere safe. Out of the action until we find a solution.”

“Then what?” DeSean asked, curious.

“There’s a couple of reservists and self-made militias trying to get together. I thought about going that route.”

“Yeah?”

“However, it’s a mess. I talked to Casey about it. The internet platforms we have to communicate with each other are being used against us by a group of savvy Chosen. Last night, a salvaged company of Missourian National Guardsmen from different units were murdered in their sleep by one of their own. This one mass-murder had access to their communication channels, their knowledge, their training and… more power than them.”

DeSean groaned. “What are you saying, Quinton?”

“I’m going solo,” he said.

“That’s stupid,” DeSean said. “We’ll find a place that’s safe for your mom, then we’ll hit the Ozark Chaos Zone.”

Quinton shook his head. “I’ve come to realize that in order to make things right, I got to prove my point. And my point needs me to level up faster and harder than the enemy, and you.”

DeSean felt struck. “What?”

“I see what you’re doing, D. I know it works for you, and it’s got a charm to it that’s going to attract desperate people. And something like that is needed, but it ain’t right. What’s the point of the win if you don’t have room to forgive? What’s the point of the win if we can’t ensure safety to those who can’t fight? What’s the point if we become the monsters we’re supposed to fight?”

“People like you,” DeSean said, “are the type of hypocrites I hate the most.”

Quinton smiled sardonically. “I know I’m a hypocrite. But I gotta try anyway.”

“For the sake of goodness?”

“So I can live up to the promises I’ve made to myself and others. The promises we’ve made when we served.”

“That world is gone like the dinosaurs. We’re just seeing it actively die in front of us and haven’t caught on. You know that, Quinton.”

“But when we find a way to win this, we’re going to have to live with what we’ve done. Or we’ll face the true Maker, and have to explain it with Him.”

“Don’t bring Him into this,” DeSean growled.

“Sorry, sorry.” Quinton raised his hands. “I just can’t go on without finding that belief in me again. I’m going to need it when I run solo.”

DeSean studied him to see if he was honestly serious. But the determination behind those blue eyes were as real as the bubbling madness DeSean had inside of himself.

“You asshole,” DeSean muttered. “You fucking hypocrite. Just yesterday you were talking a big game about community. Now that I’m creating my own, you want to run off and play the solo action-hero. You played me.”

Quinton blushed, looking away sheepishly. “I honestly didn’t think about how this would look until you mentioned it now. I swear, I didn’t plan this, it’s just what I feel is right, D. I… I gotta take the truck and find a spot for my mom somewhere in the area that’s away from danger. Then I’ll see this business about the Chaos Zone and go from there.”

“You need to be Od Level 80,” DeSean muttered.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to work on that.”

“You don’t have any magic powers. Do you even have a System Skill?”

“Uh, not yet.”

“You don’t have direct combat training or experience, so you’re going to have to use the little you’ve learned from the Air Force and run with that.”

Quinton scratched his cheek nervously. “I got hunting experience.”

“You’ll have to seek out Enlightened Chosen. Get to Od Level 80. Then face the Chaos Zone by yourself, find the Chaos Portal, then get your mom and bring her safely all on your own.”

“Not just her. Anyone else I can help along the way once I’m strong enough.”

“Okay. So you’ll play superman for the survivors, who are unlikely to be around. Because by the time you’re strong enough to do all that you’re planning, we’ll be drowning in Enlightened Chosen who will be stronger with each wave. And let’s not speak on every still-capable military force invading our nation with guns and missiles and magic blazing all out at the same time.”

“Unless….” Quinton hesitated.

“Unless we kill Hypersun,” DeSean mumbled.

“Yeah, that.”

“We don’t know if that’ll stick.”

“There’s the small problem of him being a supposed god, after all.”

“But he’s within reach, isn’t he?”

“In games, if there’s a big boss, they can always be defeated no matter how divine they are,” Quinton explained.

“But the game is rigged against us,” DeSean said.

“Yeah, I bet it is. So, that leaves us with few choices to make the best of things.”

“What you’re planning is dumb,” DeSean said. “You’re being an Anime Protagonist right now. Stop that. Just stop.”

Quinton glanced at the hole in the railing DeSean had kicked through. The Marine felt a little embarrassed for having thrown a tantrum like that.

“It is,” Quinton said with a small smile. “But it’s a new world we’re facing. Magic is possible. And… I just feel it deep inside me that I gotta do things this way. I don’t trust any other way than that.”

DeSean thought about the lessons he’d learned because of Lylothia. The pentagrams needed to efficiently summon minions. The poetic seances and emotional ties that empower curse magic. The musical understanding required to burrow power from the elements. Quinton was forgoing all of that to walk his own path, and it was super stupid.

But DeSean hated himself a little for knowing that Quinton’s path was a ballsy one. One that deserved its own recognition. It was a go-big-or-go-home gamble, and no matter how hard DeSean searched for doubt in Quinton’s face, he couldn’t find it. The damn All-American had the spark of belief.

There was nothing more that could be said in the matter. Which was fine, because DeSean received a magical ping from one of his eyes in the sky. A pickup truck came to a sudden stop outside of the trail leading to Dr. Patterson’s private practice. Four Enlightened Chosen dismounted and stalked into the woods that would conceal their approach.

DeSean returned his concentration to his own eyes and looked back at the campfire. A whole host of people were watching and listening in to the conversation between the two veterans.

The Marine ignored the random riffraff and met Mariah’s eyes. With a few subtle nods, he gestured for Mariah to get her brother and Social Media.

She did so without question.

“I’ll be back to figure out the logistics of the split,” DeSean said. “Gotta go get some Od for my people.”

Quinton’s eyes widened, but DeSean silenced him with a stern look.

“We got this,” the Marine said. He walked over to the suburban. Lylothia flew over to his shoulder, finding her perch while he pulled out a rifle, ensured it was loaded, and passed it to Social Media’s hands.

“Huh, what?” she mumbled.

“We’re going hunting,” DeSean said with a tight smile. “And to make good on you offer?”

“My offer?” Social Media squeaked.

“You asked me what I wanted,” DeSean said as he led the three off the parking lot and into a small trail. “I want you to kill a man or two for me, Social Media.”

“B-b-but, I’m not a fighter,” she mumbled. “I nearly died trying to fight.”

“That’s because I wasn’t there,” DeSean said. “Besides, you got a lot more fight in your than you think.”

He remembered how Social Media kept fighting for her life yesterday, refusing to die when she could’ve easily given up. Nobody would think much of the girl as a threat, but DeSean recognized someone with an edge when he saw it. Right now, she had padded cage wrapped around her inner darkness, and it was going to be fun for him to break that open.

If Quinton was going to make himself the solo messiah, DeSean was going to develop a unit of dark warriors who would avenge the offense their world was suffering. And they weren’t going to be nice about it. Not one bit.