“You need anything from us?” DeSean asked, leering from on top the truck at the mechanical engineer student. DeSean included Mariah as part of ‘us’ in the off-chance she was needed instead of him.

Mariah gave DeSean a look of appreciation.

The university student tapped his fingers on his leg. “Been hard to get any sleep around here. Then when I got on night watch, it was even harder staying awake. My friends and I can all agree that this….”

The guy waved his hands around, pantomiming gibberish.

“This?” DeSean urged.

“Is a lot to take in. Yesterday, I was macking with Suzie Carmack, one of the cheerleaders⁠—can’t believe I scored with her just cause I tutored her for math⁠—the next she’s locked up in a tube of hard light that nothing can break.”

“That’s the most divine cockblock I’ve ever heard,” DeSean said, frowning. “Sorry, man.”

“Well, maybe you lucked out,” Mariah said, jumping into the conversation. “She’s not worth it. She joined an evil power that wants to take over, uh, the world!”

“I’m having a hard time believing that,” the mechanical engineer replied, tapping his fingers on his thigh again. “The world is huge. How can it be possible to convert more than half the human population into whatever the Enlightened Chosen are supposed to be? I’ve played video games with better logic than this.”

“I wouldn’t dig too deep into the logic,” DeSean said. “Because it sounds like you’ll drive yourself insane. I’m already our resident weirdo, and some may say I’m a psycho. Do we honestly need more?”

“A few of us might need our very own post-apocalyptic therapist when all is said and done.” The mechanic turned toward the optiling perched on top of the house.

More university students dawdled over, saying their “good mornings” in quiet and slightly submissive tones toward DeSean. One by one, they turned to see what the mechanic was looking at. Most of them gawked or made a sound of surprise.

Social Media took a snapshot with her phone. She gave DeSean a quick glance, asking if she could post it without speaking.

DeSean gave her a look that expressed an obvious “negative, Ghostrider.” Then he used words to say, “Anything new on the feed, Social Media?”

“But my name is… ugh… never mind,” Social Media said, coming to terms with her nickname.

Good girl.

She huffed. “It’s chaos. But it’s coming from both sides.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Bad people are taking advantage. And the ones who’ve been ‘turned’ are… murdering us,” Social Media explained somberly, the bags under her eyes darkening. “Some parts of the world have blacked out on their power grids. France is rioting more violently than usual. Russia’s planning to nuke everyone, us first, of course. The Mexican cartels are at war with each other.

“Planes fell down all over the place. Ships are crashing off the coasts everywhere. Neighborhoods are burning, riots have broken out across all major cities. Someone… oh gawd… someone bombed the White House. But the President relocated elsewhere by then. There’s a rumor going around that we’ll hear from him soon, but it definitely won’t be from Air Force One.”

“Hm, planes falling from the sky, you say.” DeSean sniffed. “That’ll explain the smell of jet fuel.”

Everyone smelled the air, their expressions shifting across the spectrum from horror to confusion to nervous giddiness. One of the undecided undergrads covered his face and started half-laughing, half-crying.

DeSean saw Hailey standing to the side, arms crossed. Her appearance was slightly bedraggled but not entirely out of sorts. He asked, “What led you guys to get together and escape town?”

“The seven of us knew each other loosely,” Hailey said, “and we were at the same party in the city. So, when society started breaking down within minutes, we all thought it was like most dystopia shows. It’s safer to get to the outskirts.”

“Smart call. You led the pack, Hailey?”

“Uh, well, I wouldn’t say⁠—”

“Yeah, she led us out of the madhouse,” the mechanic said. The botany girl, Social Media, and the two undecided students nodded along.

Cool, Hailey has leadership qualities. DeSean wanted to tap into that more. For now, there were a couple of things on his mind that needed addressing. First and foremost, troop welfare.

“So, what’s for breakfast?” DeSean asked.

“Uh,” Hailey said. The others looked at each other uncertainly.

DeSean frowned.

Damn, undergrads. Rare was it for one to know what to do with themselves in the morning and keep their body in good shape. If they couldn’t be bothered, undergrads microwaved, scrounged up crap from the cafeteria, or had nothing at all since socializing, studying, and boozing took precedent over proper dieting and health.

DeSean couldn’t have that. They were facing a new day, and everyone here needed to stock up on food, get hydrated, and prepare for whatever would get thrown their way. Shit was bound to happen. The smell of burning jet fuel in the air was a forewarning.

***

“Huh, I think the forest is burning,” DeSean said, pointing out the window. A hot gust blew in, carrying a ghastly smell. He briefly inhaled it before shutting the window and turning toward the smorgasbord collected on the table.

They had pancakes, french toast, and waffles. They had crispy baby apples, lustrous oranges, an array of fruits in bowls. A tray of scrambled eggs dusted with a hint of salt and pepper sat next to a plate of bacon piled up a foot high. Bottles of milk stood next to jugs of freshly squeezed lemonade, the surfaces dripping with condensation. An assortment of condiments speckled the gaps between major plates, leaving no room for anyone to sit and eat at the table. They got out the paper plates, plastic cups, and throwaway utensils to lighten the load on cleanup later.

DeSean nodded his head, gesturing for everyone to get into the dining room and eat. Mariah was standing next to him, watching him from the corner of his eye. When Thomas and Glenda’s family came in with big smiles and hungry bellies, he turned toward the teen.

“You don’t have to wait on everybody else before you dig in,” You’re the one that helped Jebediah Junior’s wife cook all of this. “Don’t you want to taste your hard work?”

She skipped over his question and asked her own, “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Eh. It’s a ritual I picked up from the military.” He scratched the side of his arm. “Leaders eat last. We have to make sure the people who are supposed to listen to us are fed first. It’s something about good order and discipline and some other esoteric bullshit.”

Mariah tilted her head up. “Well, I’m a leader, too. So, they can grab their fill before me.”

“Wait, really?” Roberto said from across the room. “But you’re always screaming at me not to eat before you get⁠—”

Mariah snapped at him in Spanish, her hand seizing a plastic spoon and chucking it at him. It nearly blurred out of DeSean’s sight, zipped between Thomas and Glenda’s kids, and cracked in two off of Robert’s forehead.

“Hey! That could’ve hurt me,” Roberto grouched, rubbing his forehead.

“But it didn’t, since you’re so strong,” Mariah teased.

“Mariah,” DeSean called. Soon as the teen twisted toward him, he flicked her nose. “Don’t be an asshole for no good reason. It’s hard for people to take you seriously that way.”

She glowered at him, the glint in her eyes promising retribution, but it simmered down. She might not have taken DeSean’s words to heart, but she didn’t disparage them either. A little hot and cold, this one.

Quinton came around, eyes bleary, hair a mess. There was a shadow of a beard on his face. His mom followed, looking prim and proper like she was getting ready to take a picture. Then Old Jebediah entered, paused to take in the scene, looked past DeSean, and moseyed over to grab him some vittles.

Once everyone else had their share, including Mariah, DeSean started to grab a plate when he noticed someone was missing.

“Where’s Isaiah?”

“He’s tracking after the sick cow that got away last night,” Old Jebediah grumbled, shooting a glare at DeSean. “Someone left the barn door open.”

“When did he leave?” DeSean asked.

“Right when it was time to wake, which was before you slackers.”

So, that was before I got my minions up to scope out the area. How far could Isaiah have gone to escape the optiling’s notice?

DeSean felt a gnawing hunch in his stomach. Something was off. He matched Old Jebediah’s glare with his own stare, letting the old man look into the portals of a trained killer. Old Jebediah, who probably seen his fair share of trouble, looked away first.

“DeSean, honey, why don’t you get yourself something to eat,” Allison urged carefully.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Why do we keep dropping this thing with Isaiah and the cow? DeSean sighed and finally dug in as the last to eat. There wasn’t much. The university students piled more food onto their plates than necessary at the start. All that remained was an apple, the bottom of a juice jug, and some scraps here and there.

“Um, want some of mine?” Roberto offered his plate.

“Nah, I don’t eat much anyway.”

“You look like you’re one sneeze away of breaking a rib, boy,” Old Jebediah said. “Now, if you told me your son was leading this outfit of yours, Allison, I can see it better.”

“Everyone has their strengths, Mr. Riley,” Allison said politely.

DeSean looked down at himself. He always had a lean and lanky frame. His only saving grace was his broad shoulders and leather jacket.

It was worse when he was younger. They had him on double-rations when he entered Bootcamp. A glance at Quinton’s meaty body would make anyone think he was the Marine compared to DeSean’s skeletal appearance.

“So, what’s the next move now that we’ve all had breakfast?” Thomas asked with a smile.

“Well, from the look of things, we ought to stay on the move,” Quinton explained. “I was reexamining the System notifications last night, and our best bet is finding one of these Chaos Zones. There’s supposed to be gear and opportunities to, well, get more of those Od stats, there.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Jebediah Junior said. “The plan for all of y’all is to find a zone where you can… level up?”

“It’s like one of those children’s games,” Thomas said, chuckling. Junior laughed with him. The two of them could become fast friends.

Quinton glowered at them for poking fun in what was a difficult situation.

“If you think about it, everything you do in life is a game,” DeSean said. “Some games can earn you money. Others can leave you dead. You wouldn’t think you’re playing a game, but the difference between killing someone on screen and in real life is washing your hands a little more thoroughly.”

Thomas and Junior stopped laughing.

Glenda and Junior’s wife gave DeSean not-so-nice looks.

“So, DeSean,” called Hailey from the hallway with the university clique, “do we really have to go out there? Can’t we stay here? This looks like a safe place.”

DeSean would’ve had Quinton answer that question if it wasn’t for the university students looking pointedly at him. I might’ve imprinted on them.

“You all have the System notifications in your head,” DeSean said. “Look back. What does it say? What’s going to happen in two weeks.”

“You have less than 660 hours to find a Chaos Portal before the Lord of Light and Order reaps the world of Chaos Marked,” the mechanical engineer read verbatim, his voice resonating strangely. It was as if the words were burrowing themselves into DeSean’s eyeballs.

“Whoa, that was freaky,” said the botany girl. “Are we sure we’re not on something? I would prefer better drugs than this.”

“This is all poppycock!” shouted Old Jebediah. “First, Isaiah’s little hellion loses his mind, and now all of you are bringing hell and damnation to my house.”

“Dad, no,” Junior moaned.

DeSean finished up his meager breakfast, tossed the remains in the trash, and unshouldered his rifle. The air thickened with tension, everyone’s eyes glued to DeSean as he brass-checked the weapon and found it ready to go at condition one.

“You were hiding an Enlightened Chosen in the barn,” DeSean said. It was a matter-of-fact statement.

They all hesitated, which was answer enough. Old Jebediah’s wrinkled face shifted from shame to fury. He was getting ready to blow, and DeSean was pretty sure it would lead to an eviction from the premise. But that was perfectly fine. This place was compromised. They needed to leave.

“Everyone!” Social Media called. “Oh, shit, it’s the President. He’s on the feed. He’s livestreaming right now.”

“Put the volume up,” Quinton ordered.

“It is up!”

“I’ll grab the Bluetooth speaker!” One of the undecided grads flew out of the front door. When he returned, he had the speaker turned on while everyone was shoving in close to look at one tiny screen.

If there weren’t several serious matters in play, DeSean would’ve found this funny, especially with Old Jebediah pulling out some ancient spectacles to peer at the President on a social media influencer’s smartphone.

Once the Bluetooth speaker was selected by the phone, listening to the most powerful man in the world became an easier task. Understanding what he was saying might’ve been a hard pill to swallow for most people.

“My fellow Americans, my fellow people across the world, we are under attack. This is not a game. This is not a fantasy. Somewhere near you, maybe even in your own neighborhood, monsters and fanatics are seeking to end our lives.”

The president was wearing a bulletproof vest, and his attire looked ragged and torn. There were specks of blood on his ripped sleeve. For the leader of the free world to livestream while in a mired appearance was a shocking sight. Even for DeSean. More importantly, he had a black curtain behind him, which was probably placed to conceal the location from where he was livestreaming. Things had to be really bad if he and whoever was helping him were resorting to such tactics.

Who is the President hiding from? DeSean wondered.

“I wish I could sit with you and joke about these status screens and video game elements and magic, but no matter how it looks, this is the reality that’s been beset upon us since last night. For we are being attacked by an outside threat. And we are under attack from within. This is not just a moral dilemma testing the foundations of our beliefs as a united people, but a worldwide war that would see us destroyed if we do not stand and resist.

“So, we must resist. We must play to win. We must aim our skills, our abilities, our guns against the enemy. That’s what they are, everyone. The Enlightened Chosen are false prophets. They are propagandists. They are a faction that wishes to destroy us. Do not think of them as fellow humans. They are not. They’ve become something else. Knowing what damage it would bring, I’m saying this because our world is on the line. We must stand and fight, and we must do so together and not let the enemy win.”

“Anyone still feels the need to make light of this?” DeSean asked, taking the chance to rub it in while the President paused. “Anyone else thinks this is some amusing kid’s game? Or poppycock? Or bullshit?”

Nobody said a thing. Mariah caught his eye, and DeSean gave her a purposeful nod. Don’t be an asshole for no reason. But sometimes you gotta be a dick.

The President had more to say, and everyone was enraptured by his speech. It was rousing. It was gallivanting. It was the stuff of legends. It made DeSean’s heart beat a little harder, his chest filling with some patriotism. Sure, the speech was meant to address the world, but even DeSean would admit there was some self-importance to being an American. It came with the territory.

So, when something off-camera interrupted the President’s speech, DeSean felt the cold clamp of dread around his heart. It happened for a moment before he let go of the sentiment. He came to terms with hard reality. The enemy⁠—the Enlightened Chosen⁠—found the President.

“Hm,” DeSean hummed, walking away from the spectacle.

He heard gunshots, strange crackling sounds like fireworks going off in the background, men screaming and dying. He reached the window and stared out as he listened to a furious, close-quarters-battle until it came to a finish. He should be watching it all the way, but his jackhammering heart and boiling blood and inner demons said otherwise.

It wasn’t out of primal fear or rage. It was something else. Something inside him heavily disliked the distance between him and the force attacking the President, leaving DeSean unable to do what he was trained for⁠—killing hostiles.

Even if he didn’t vote for the man and had grievances with his policies, there was something viscerally problematic about having the American President attacked on livestream by the fucking enemy and knowing nothing could be done about it.

That was a weakness, but he’d have to correct it later.

The President was grunting in pain. Someone padded around barefoot. A musical male voice spoke. “Hm, is this one of these scrying devices? Are you speaking to others through it?”

“I’ve told the world to resist, you monster,” spat the President.

“Monster? Me? Oh, no, no, I am no monster. I am bright hope that chases away the evil night. I am a force that sees all that lurks in the shadows of the Hells’ dominion. I am the grandest god of the heavens. I am the Lord of Light and Order, King Hypersun!”

DeSean twisted around and started back toward the clustered bodies around Social Media’s phone. They were packed in like sardines, and he hesitated to touch them because he might act roughly.

“Kowtow before me, little leader of foolish mortals,” ordered the asshole god Hypersun. “Perhaps I will personally convert you into an Enlightened Chosen that’ll serve me directly.”

“I’m the President of the United States of America, motherfucker. Nothing in my job title suggests I’ll kowtow to you.”

“My business with the Lady of Fire and Love is ours alone.” Hypersun sniffed. “But regardless of your wild assertions of which mother I fuck, you’ve just volunteered yourself to be made a perfect example!”

Just when DeSean squeezed his way between the university students and reached Social Media’s side, her phone screen brightened into an eye-hurting white. Nothing could be seen as the audio screeched horrifically with static. Then the feed turned black. The livestream was dead.

A foreboding silence filled the entire room. One of the undecided university students darted for the garbage can and vomited.

“They took our president,” mumbled the other undecided grad.

“Oh good God,” muttered Jebdiah Junior.

The Rileys trembled. Glenda and Thomas’s family whispered worriedly. Social Media and her friends huddled in a heavy silence until the savvy influencer broke into sobs.

Quinton staggered back into the wall and wiped at his face. He looked at DeSean with eyes filled with bewilderment, rage, and uncertainty.

DeSean didn’t pay him much mind. He was getting an urgent ping from the optiling on top of the house. Something⁠—someone⁠—was leaving the forest and rolling toward the front gate of Riley’s farm. They were driving a rusted orange pickup truck, and they weren’t alone.

“Everyone, load up,” DeSean said with a calm and firm voice. “We have enemy contact at the gate.”

“What?” squeaked Thomas.

Little squeals and yelps filled the room.

Both Quinton and Mariah were fast to reach his side. “How do you know?” Quinton asked.

“The minions can see they’re Enlightened Chosen?” Mariah yelled, fixing everyone’s attention on DeSean.

“Well, yeah,” DeSean answered, handing off his rifle to Quinton. “They can also see Isaiah’s corpse tied to the hood of the truck.”

Junior’s wife screeched.

DeSean received another ping from the optiling on the back shack. A group on foot was running across the field to attack from behind. DeSean summed the attackers up.

“Hm, fourteen. Nine from the front. Five from the back. We have a minute at most.” DeSean started toward the closet that held their gear. “I don’t care if you don’t like guns. If you wish to live, you’re going to get a weapon in your hand and shoot where we point.”

There was no time for quick lessons. DeSean tossed long weapons and pistols to whoever was near and kept track of enemy progress through his minions. The defenses needed to be established pronto. Hell, it should’ve been done minutes ago. In the end, DeSean yanked out a box of ear protection⁠—because going deaf sucked⁠—and hurled it down the hallway.

“Grab ‘em! Put them in! Now!” DeSean roared, following his own advice before picking up a semi-auto shotgun and loading it. He slung a belt of shells around his shoulder, looked around, and found Roberto’s hands empty sans the Od Elixer.

“Drink up,” DeSean said.

Roberto pulled off the cork and downed it. By the time he finished, DeSean had tossed the semi-auto shotty into the kids’ hands.

“Put those points into Focus,” DeSean instructed. The kid would listen.

DeSean wasn’t taking his own advice, however. He slotted his Free Od into Attunement. More Focus would’ve helped, but he had his Marine training to fall back on.

His mana depth deepened, bolstering the humming current around his body. It was electrifying. It was tactically advantageous. With more Od for Attunement, he could call upon Lylothia for stat boosts and maintain the minions simultaneously.

Don’t forget to tribute something⁠—or someone⁠—for the demon princess.

He grabbed the second semi-auto shotty and loaded it quickly. As he did so, he connected to an optiling’s feed and observed the enemy pickup truck skid to a stop in front of Quinton’s truck.

The Enlightened Chosen disembarked, one of them raising their hand. The air shimmered, caught on fire, then shaped itself into a halo of white light in front of the attacker’s arm⁠—a man with an impossibly wide grin and other uncanny features pushing into the inhuman territory.

“Get down now!” DeSean roared.

They all did, except for one of the nauseated university students and Thomas.

The man with the charged-up halo in his hand emitted a pulse of energy. It flew like a ball out of cannon, smashed through the sidling, the plaster, and into the undecided university student.

The young guy’s torso erupted like a pinata filled with red goop. It splattered everyone close. A pink mist clogged the air before settling down.

DeSean got to his feet as viscera unglued itself from the ceiling and pattered the floor around the torso-less legs. Panic and screams filled the home⁠—just more of the same din DeSean had heard back in his warfighting days.

“Quinton!” DeSean yelled, heading toward the back. “Take everyone and defend the front.”

“And w-what about the rear?” Quinton stammered, yanking someone with him into a defensible position.

“Don’t worry,” DeSean said, “I’ll be there.”